Dora and Rex Mysteries 1-4

Chapter 1

The complete upheaval of Lord Reginald’s future started the moment he crumpled his newspaper into a ball and tossed it into the terrine of hot porridge sitting in the middle of the dining table.

The dining room of this particular home had seen its fair share of temper tantrums over the years, despite being a study in elegance and simplicity. The walls were painted in a pale sage and the curtains pulled back to let in an abundance of sunlight. High-backed chairs upholstered in cream silk surrounded a long, rectangular table made of oak. Located just off Grosvenor Square in Mayfair, the behaviour of the occupants proved that an excellent address and rich furnishings weren’t enough to enforce a stiff upper lip.

That didn’t mean, however, that its current owner, the Dowager Duchess of Rockingham, welcomed such behaviour. She was a doyenne of the upper class, known as much for her immaculate style as her encyclopaedic knowledge of England’s elite. She much preferred to capture titillating snippets of gossip through her intricate web of informants than witness it from a member of her own family.

When the aforementioned broadsheet landed with a splat, sending a glop of porridge onto her starched white linen tablecloth, she was less than pleased. She arched an eyebrow at the fair-haired man seated across from her while the footman rushed to remove the offending object.

“Was the news not to your liking, dear, or was it the porridge? If you want extra seasoning, you need only to send word to Cook.”

Lord Reginald, known to friends and family more simply as Rex, flushed in embarrassment. He’d been so engrossed in the paper, he’d quite forgotten his grandmother was still sitting at the table.

“Apologies, Grandmama. There’s nothing wrong with the food.” Rex speared a bite of egg with his fork to emphasise his point. “It’s this situation with Freddie that’s causing me indigestion.”

His grandmother’s expression softened, the disapproval replaced by genuine sympathy. She rested a hand against the stiff lace of her bodice. “Terrible loss, that is. As if your generation didn’t suffer enough death during the Great War. To lose a man such as Frederick Ponsonby to a senseless back alley murder… I still can’t imagine what he was doing in such a forsaken place.”

“It seems imagination is all we have left. According to the Times, the Yard has run out of leads. They’ve stamped his file as death by misadventure, caused by person(s) unknown and seem content to leave it at that.”

The Dowager Duchess shook her silvered head, the diamonds in her hair glittering under the dining room chandelier. “Poor Freddie. He deserved better, although I can’t imagine the chief investigator took such a decision rashly. The Ponsonby name is well-regarded, even if the death tax left their coffers dry. I had every faith that Freddie would eventually marry an heiress and resolve the problem.”

Rex was less convinced on that front, but otherwise shared his grandmother’s disappointment. Freddie had been a good man, one of the best he’d known.

Although Freddie had a reputation for driving fast cars, betting on winning horses, and escorting women with questionable moral codes, Rex saw through to the real truth of his character. Freddie preferred to keep his good deeds out of sight. He’d give you the shirt off his back, and was the first to stand at your side in a challenge. While such efforts guaranteed fast friendships, they did little to rebuild a lost fortune.

Now, he was gone, found dead in the shadows of the Ten Bells, a pub in Spitalfields, with a gunshot through his heart. In an area so packed with people that they lived five or more to a room, somehow no one heard the firing of a gun. It wasn’t until the morning after that someone contacted the police, and only then to request they collect the body.

Rex had used his family name to demand access to the investigation files, thin as they were. His daily trips to Scotland Yard yielded little result. It didn’t matter what he said. The chief investigator had already decided Freddie’s public image was as deep as Freddie got.

He’d poked his finger into Rex’s chest and leaned close enough for Rex to smell the onions on his breath. “You lordlings should know better than to venture into the slums. No amount of money will guarantee your protection. Frederick Ponsonby should have kept his wagers to those within his own social class, instead of visiting that pub. Mind you, don’t make the same mistake, boy.”

Rex’s cheeks burned hot as fury stole the words from his mouth. He’d grabbed his coat and swept from the man’s office without a backward glance.

Even now, several days later, seated at his grandmother’s dining table, the memory galled him.

After the footman poured the dowager a fresh cup of tea, she settled her gaze on her grandson. He was a handsome man, with sharp, angular features and a tall, lean frame. His hair was a pale blond, swept back in a stylish pompadour, and his piercing blue eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. His complexion was wan despite the first blush of a tan, marred by dark circles under his blue eyes. Had he lost weight? She recalled all the meals he’d missed in the last week. She’d thought he was at his club, but now she wasn’t so sure.

Man or not, he needed a firm hand to get his life back on track. “I’m sorry to see this terrible tragedy end in such a manner, but at least you can turn your attention to other matters now.”

Rex stared, unblinking. “What other matters could be more important than this, Grandmama? My friend is dead. I have no intention of letting the investigation die as well. Not so soon, anyway. There’s no way they ran down every lead in such a short time.”

His grandmother was unmoved. In a voice as steely as her rigid spine, she replied, “It is done, Rex. Accept his death and mourn him, but your attempts to manoeuvre the team at Scotland Yard are at an end. This level of involvement is unhealthy… Particularly for you.” She tilted her head so her stately profile caught the sunlight. “I heard you cry out in your sleep last night. Again. That’s the fourth time since you learned of Freddie’s death.”

“Fifth,” Rex whispered, unable to keep the word from slipping from his lips.

“Worse than I feared. I’ll ask the doctor to send over a sleeping draught. You will return to your studies. That calmed you before. Take your mind off things.” She prattled on as though she were discussing a child and not a man in his mid-twenties.

Rex watched as his grandmother took his future in a firm grip, running ahead with her plans to help him deal once again with the terrors that ruined his sleep. Dreams of battlefields, of narrow escapes. In his mind’s eye, the chaos of war shrank until all he saw was a severed limb beside a lifeless body. Worse yet were the nights he dreamt of the living. How many times had he revisited the final moments of those gunned down before his very eyes?

His grandmother was right in one way. He was smart enough to recognise that the only thing that would stave off the horrors in his mind was driving himself to distraction. The Chief Inspector sneered at the inane pastimes of the titled and wealthy, blind to their reasons.

He’d had only to ask the question. Why did young men like Rex and Freddie waste the hours of their days with gambling, drink, women, and dancing?

They were all too aware of just how brief life could be. They knew that there was no explanation or justification for who lived and who died. The unbearable burden of surviving weighed so heavily on Rex’s shoulders that his chest grew tight and he heard his heart pounding in his head.

Yet, around the start of spring, something in Freddie had changed. His eyes grew less shadowed, and his laugh less forced.

“What’s your secret?” Rex had asked. “Is it a woman? Has the great Freddie Ponsonby fallen to Cupid’s bow?”

“Not likely,” Freddie had said with a chuckle. “I simply recognised that I’d spent far too long laying amongst the flowers. It was time for me to stand up and be a man.”

Rex had scrunched his brow, not understanding what Freddie meant.

Freddie had clapped him on the shoulder, taking pity on his friend’s obvious confusion. “I spent days thinking about those we lost, wondering why me and not them. For a long while, it was more weight than I could bear. But I see now that was wrong. My mourning is done. I decided to live for those who didn’t.”

“You’ve revelled in bacchanalia enough for three men,” Rex agreed.

Freddie barked a laugh, but his face grew sober. “I must bring balance to my ways. I must be the brother, father, and son. Even if my universe is no larger than the confines of this city, there are still gaps I can fill. I will do what I can, and it will bring me peace.”

Their friend Clark had intervened at that point, drawing Freddie away to play the latest parlour game. Rex was left to wonder in what ways Freddie intended to change. He’d longed to ask, but never again found the opportune moment.

Now, he’d never have the chance. Rex knew the truth of what happened in that back alley lay in that very question. Freddie must have been there for a reason. What gap had he seen? Who had he been helping?

Rex’s grandmother demanded Rex put those questions aside, but her ask was impossible. Rex had to know. Not just for Freddie.

For himself.

Perhaps the answer would bring meaning to his life as well.

He’d never find out unless he pursued the truth of Freddie’s death.

His face hardened into the steely mask he’d perfected on the front lines and he turned his gaze on the woman seated across the table.

The dowager gasped at his transformation.

“I’m no longer a child in leading strings. I will pursue this matter until the bitter end. After all,” he added, chuckling darkly, “what are a few nights of lost sleep compared to eternal rest? Do not ask me again to abandon this task.”

Her lips flattened into a hard line, but she nodded her agreement.

Rex made quick work of taking his leave from the table and hurrying up the grand staircase to his bedroom suite. His valet was still inside the bedchamber, brushing out the coat Rex had worn the night before.

“Did you need something, sir?” he asked, rising to his feet.

Rex waved at the slender man to keep his seat. “I would never presume to pry into your private life, Brantley, but I’m curious whether you are familiar with anyone in the Ponsonby household.”

Brantley paused, brush in hand. “I can’t say that I am. You might ask Cook. She has her fingers in a number of pies, if you get my drift.”

Rex nodded and turned on his heels to do just that. A wayward thought stopped him in his tracks. He was assuming Freddie’s valet might be aware of something because he often confided in Brantley. That kind of narrow thinking was likely why the official investigation came up dry.

“Can I ask you another question? Purely hypothetical,” he added.

Brantley set the brush aside and straightened in his chair, giving Lord Rex his full attention.

“If a man were going to choose one person in whom to confide, whom might that be?”

Brantley’s shoulders relaxed. “That’s easy. He’d tell his wife.”

“What if he didn’t have a wife?”

“Does he have a woman at all? Anyone he’s committed to? If not, I suppose it would be a friend or someone else he trusted. If it’s a man of your class you mean, you’d know better than I who else should go on the list.”

“Thank you, Brantley. As always, I value your honesty and plain speaking. For a man of my class, as you say, such gems are rare.”

Brantley smiled at the compliment. “Is that why you asked me about Ponsonby’s household? Are you trying to figure out what happened to him? If so, you might try knocking on the door of his lady friend first. Even if she doesn’t know anything, if her photos in the paper are any sign, spending time with her wouldn’t exactly be a hardship.”

Rex racked his brain but came up short. He paid little attention to the ever-changing rota of women currying favour with their group. “Do you remember her name?”

“I’d be hard-pressed to forget it. Sounds like one of those French film stars. It’s Theodora. Theodora Laurent, to be precise. She arrived in London six weeks ago and has been centre stage in many a man’s dreams ever since.”