The Devious Duchess Read Free Page B

manner today was strangely subdued. She looked almost frightened.
    “What’s the matter, Polly?” Deirdre asked.
    Polly lifted her apron to her eyes, said, “Oh, miss!” and burst into tears. “It’s the old gentleman. He’s gone and died.”
    “Uncle Dudley, dead?” Deirdre asked in a small voice. She felt odd, almost disembodied, and clutched at Belami’s hand to steady herself. She had never felt any love for Dudley—he was quite simply unlovable—but he had been a part of her life for as long as she could remember. “When? How did it happen? Why didn’t you notify us?”
    “We didn’t know what to do—me and Anna here all alone. He was dead when we came down this morning.”
    “But it’s past nine o’clock. You must have known for hours!” Deirdre pointed out.
    “Mrs. Haskell ain’t here” was the oblique reply, but Deirdre had soon read into it that this meant a more tardy hour of arising.
    Belami’s quick ear picked up a different point. “When you came down? Then he didn’t die in bed?”
    “Oh, no, sir. He died at the table. He was slumped over it when I went in to clear away the dinner dishes.”
    “May I see him?” Belami asked.
    “Well . . ." Polly hesitated, but meanwhile Belami had strode down the hall and was peering into rooms till he reached the dining room.
    It was a pathetic sight that met his eyes. A gray head was bent over the table, the shoulders hunched forward. The remains of his meal still sat on the board in front of him—the bowl of mulligatawny brought by the duchess, bread and butter, and a pot of tea. Belami approached him to feel his pulse, and when he did so, he noticed that Dudley had been sick to his stomach. There was an unpleasant stench, mitigated somewhat by the aroma of brandy.
    Food poisoning? But at that moment Deirdre’s head appeared at the door, and he rose to stop her. “Don’t come in, Deirdre,” he said, and walked to the door to lead her out. “He’s dead. It’s . . . rather unpleasant.”
    “Oh,” she gasped, and took one quick peek before leaving. “I suppose it was his heart?” she asked.
    “The coroner will tell us. He’ll have to be notified. Let’s speak to the servant and see what she’s done.”
    “She hasn’t done anything but bawl,” Deirdre answered. “We must tell Auntie. The funeral arrangements will be up to her.”
    “Yes, I expect that will be the first order of business,” he agreed.
    “What shall we do, miss?” Polly asked when they returned to the front hall.
    Deirdre felt that the best thing would be to keep the servants distracted and suggested that Polly make some coffee, for there would soon be people arriving. She and Belami then darted across the meadow and went in search of the duchess.
    She was found in the small parlor, which was easier to heat than the main saloon. “You’re back early! And is he coming?” she demanded eagerly.
    “Auntie, he’s dead!” Deirdre blurted out, though she had been thinking up more gentle ways of breaking the news all the way home.
    The duchess arose from her chair in a strangely disjointed way, as though on strings. Her face was always pale, but it turned a shade paler. “You never mean it!” she exclaimed, clutching her heart.
    “I’m afraid it’s true. What would you like us to do, Duchess?” Belami asked, and felt that the first thing to do was to get a glass of brandy down the woman’s throat. There was none about, however, so he poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.
    “How did he die?” she asked after gulping the wine and resuming her seat.
    “We don’t know. It looked like food poisoning. He had been sick to his stomach,” Belami told her.
    “Sir Nevil Ryder! The bleater has poisoned Dudley after getting him to change the will in his favor!” she declared, her eyes glinting with malice.
    “We don’t know that he did change it,” Deirdre pointed out.
    “He’s been murdered, hasn’t he?” was the duchess’s reply. “Of