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“My sister did,” said Hamish. “They went to school together.” He paused, then said, carefully, “I believe her father has taken the death of his only child very hard.”
Sir Lionel appeared agitated. He shifted in his seat, and his mouth worked as if words eluded him. Finally, he muttered, “That’s the thing. I couldn’t get it out of my mind after I saw the photograph you showed me of the woman who so greatly resembled Lady Bradden. I’d had my doubts, long before, but then dismissed them. Then, of course, you dug up the past with your questions, arousing my suspicions. So, I asked my daughter to locate a photograph of Cassandra.”
At Hamish’s raised eyebrows, he elucidated, “My daughter has a friend who was godmother to the young lady, and she supplied this.” He held up the image. “And the time frame fits. I’d wager my suspicions are right on the money.”
“What suspicions?” Despite himself, Hamish was becoming as agitated as Sir Lionel, though trying not to show it. He took a breath, and forced himself to remain seated, calmly, as Sir Lionel went on, “Fact is, I think I’ve hit upon the root of the mystery.” He gave a satisfied nod. “I don’t believe Cassandra was Lord Lambton’s only child.”
Hamish waited. There was nothing he could say when Sir Lionel was clearly going to supply him with his answer.
“The duel I mentioned between Lord Lambton and Sir John Taverner?” the old man reminded him. “The duel where I stepped up as second?”
“Sir John…Taverner?” Hamish repeated, his mind running round in circles. Tavener? Surely not…Lily’s father?
Sir Lionel worried at his lower lip. “I had given little thought to it for years. Then, seeing that photograph of the woman I took to be Lady Bradden, well…I realised two things.”
“Two things?”
The old man didn’t hesitate. In fact, Sir Lionel seemed very eager to respond.
“First, it is my belief that Lady Bradden was in fact Lord Lambton’s love child. The timing fits. I did some investigation, and learned that Sir John Taverner’s wife died in childbirth eight months after the duel between himself and Lord Lambton. Lambton, you see, had been having an affair with Sir John’s wife. Of course, when the brat was born so soon afterwards, Sir John would have nothing to do with the infant. The girl, Lily, was brought up by a spinster aunt, and then her father—or supposed father—married her off to Lord Bradden.”
Hamish stared. What response could he give to this?
Sir Lionel believed that Lily was Lord Lambton’s illegitimate daughter?
He swallowed, and then because he didn’t know what else to say, asked—though it was more of a croak, “And the second thing?”
Sir Lionel’s agitation grew. “I believe young Cassandra didn’t die of fever in her bed, or in the insane hospital, or anywhere else that people care to speculate.” He shook his head. “No, I believe she ran away. Yes, ran away! Only Lord Lambton would rather the world thought she was dead. Don’t ask me how she ran away. But that photograph that you showed me—”
“This one?” Hamish asked, sliding his hand into his breast pocket and producing the photograph of Celeste and Lily.
Sir Lionel nodded, clearly not thinking it strange that Hamish should keep the photograph so close to his heart. “That’s the one. I believe it is her.” Triumphantly, he finished, “I believe Lord Lambton’s daughter, Cassandra, is this woman, Mrs Eustace. Only no one knows it, what with her being veiled and mysterious.” He winked. “Mystery solved. Rumour had it that Miss Cassandra was a little touched in the head. I think she’s milking her father’s grief supposedly from the other side. Just you wait, though—” He chuckled—“The grand reveal will come soon enough, only I’ve already solved the mystery.”
Hamish didn’t know how to respond.
A waiter came by to offer them more drinks, but Sir Lionel declined. “I should get home before it gets dark,” he said. “Not as steady on my pins as I used to be.” He stretched. “As for Lambton’s love child…well, sad story that one. Her father never gave her the time of day. Nor that husband of hers. Can’t imagine why old Bradden didn’t appreciate his good fortune in having such a beautiful wife, though of course the fellow already had a mistress. He was well looked after. But the girl—Lady Bradden—was not just a beauty; she was a kind soul. Kind to me, who was already an old man. Kind to those in service to her, so I heard. Ah, but I’m just being sentimental. I recall the night she sat and talked with me when my only daughter was sick with the scarlet fever, and I thought I might lose her. She could have been making merry, but instead she was reassuring a querulous old father when she was no older than my Dottie.” He dabbed at his eyes with a snowy handkerchief.
“I hope your daughter —?”
“She survived the fever and is now mother to three, happily married. I have no concerns on her behalf. A fond and doting daughter with a fond and doting husband. But Lady Bradden never had anyone to see to her.” He lifted a shoulder. “Why do I think of it, now? There was always a sense of sadness clinging to her, despite her beauty. I remember the visit I paid to Norfolk and the sense I had that—Lady Bradden had no one. Well, except that personal physician who got his claws into her through her husband’s conniving. Now, he was a charlatan,” he muttered. “Lady Bradden’s personal physician, my foot. Bah!”
“A charlatan?” Hamish prompted, clutching at anything to detain Sir Lionel who looked ready to depart.
Fortunately, Sir Lionel obviously enjoyed an excuse to gossip.
“Fellow used his influence for all the advantage he could squeeze out of the situation. Saw it with my own eyes over several visits. He took a healthy, virtuous woman, and twisted her into something that was poisonous in her husband’s eye. Became her lover to do the job. Well, she’s dead now and more’s the pity. Helped greatly to her end by that bounder of a doctor. Sir Robert and I have little to say to one another these days, so I’ll tell it like it is.” He gave a short laugh. “I always thought he and old Taverner had something going on there, but what would I know. Full of conspiracies, my daughter likes to tell me.”
Hamish sensed Sir Lionel was about to leave. The urgency to detain him so he could answer more of Hamish’s burning questions precluded finesse, for he asked bluntly as Sir Lionel struggled to his feet, “So this doctor was Lady Bradden’s lover? But Sir Robert also had a mistress?”
“Yes. For years. Local squire’s wife. Married her last month. They’re coming to London in a few days, in fact. Bumped into that toad-eater, Dr Swithins, and he told me.” With a groan, he stretched each leg and shook a foot in turn, before reaching for the photograph he’d left on the table.
“Dr Swithins?”
The name echoed round Hamish’s brain. Dr Swithins? It was disturbingly familiar.
“Yes, the late Lady Bradden’s personal physician?” A look of confusion flitted across Sir Lionel’s face. “You recall him, surely? In that photograph? Blonde, smarmy-looking fellow.” He held up the photograph, tapping the face of a young man with fair hair and the distinct look of a lady’s man. Standing in the back row, partially concealed, it only took one glance for Hamish to recognise him as Sir Lionel said with a sneer, “Smarmy Swithins. That’s the feller. Thought I’d told you.”
Chapter 30
