Penny for Your Secrets, page 11
“Mr. Deacon sent one of the other footmen for Scotland Yard.”
I glanced toward the window. “I anticipated as much. Can you be certain he sends Maisie in with the next group of maids?”
He flashed me a grin. “I’ll do what I can.”
He disappeared from sight, and I smiled at his eagerness to thwart the butler. It was good to have an ally.
Whether William had contrived it or Deacon had sent her of his own accord, I was relieved when a sandy-haired maid stepped forward from the trio before me to introduce herself as Maisie. Rather than waste time making general queries as I had with the others, lest Inspector Thoreau arrive to interrupt me, I addressed the scullery maid directly.
“I understand you were at Mr. Deacon’s heels as he reached Lord Rockham’s study.”
Her eyes rounded at my knowing this information. “Y-Yes, m’lady.”
I wasn’t a lady, but I didn’t correct her.
“I were still finishin’ the washin’ up from the party,” she hastened to add, as if she worried I might question why she had been there. “Nearly dropped a platter when I heard the shot.”
“So you followed Mr. Deacon upstairs to see what had happened?”
“Well, nay. I were there first.”
My eyebrows lifted in surprise.
“At the top o’ the stairs, that is.” She shrugged one shoulder. “I knew what it meant. I were part of the WAACs over in France.” A domestic worker, I presumed, cooking for the army. “ ’Twasn’t till I reached the hall that I realized maybe I shouldna rushed toward it.” She crushed the apron she’d been pleating between her hands. “That’s when Mr. Deacon pushed past me, and I could hear the footmen poundin’ down the stairs from above. So I figured ’twas safe to follow.”
I nodded, leaping in before the voluble girl’s words ran on. “And did you see anything? Inside the study, that is. Before Mr. Deacon sent you away.”
“I didn’t see the body, if that’s whatcha mean.”
One of the other maids cringed.
“Mr. Deacon were standin’ in the way. But I did see the gun lyin’ on the rug, and I could smell the shot.”
I was skeptical of the last, for the sharp, almost-sweet stench of cordite from one gunshot usually did not linger for long, especially if one was not standing within a few feet of where it was fired, but I did not refute her. Her mind had likely supplied the smell, expecting it to be there, and wanting to be helpful, she’d recounted it.
She twisted her lips regretfully. “ ’Fraid I didn’t see much else, not afore Mr. Deacon shut the door in my face. But the room gave me a right chill, I can tell ye that. And it wasn’t just from the open window. Somethin’ evil happened there.”
“Wait.” I held up a hand, forestalling her poetic embellishments, my heart beginning to beat faster. “You said the window was open?”
“Yes, m’lady,” she replied, before being distracted by the sound of raised male voices in the hall outside.
I had a strong suspicion whom those voices belonged to, but I wanted confirmation of what she was saying before they burst through the door.
“Maisie,” I stated firmly, making her head whip around to look at me. “Are you certain the window was open?”
She blinked at me and would have turned her head again to look at the door if I hadn’t snapped.
“This is important. I need to know if you’re certain the window was open.”
Her brow furrowed as if thinking back; then she nodded decisively. “Yes, m’lady. It was.”
I thanked her just as Mr. Deacon whipped open the door to admit Chief Inspector Thoreau.
CHAPTER 10
“Mrs. Kent, I understand Lady Rockham is a friend of yours,” Chief Inspector Thoreau began in a low voice, having stepped aside with me next to the window looking out over the square. “And while it’s quite admirable you wish to help her, I’m afraid I really must insist that you not interfere with Scotland Yard’s investigation into the matter of her husband’s death.”
I couldn’t halt the trickle of amusement I felt at witnessing his strained politeness from curling my lips. “While I do appreciate the consideration, there’s no need to treat me with kid gloves, Inspector. Not when I can tell you are silently wishing me to the devil.”
His heavy eyebrows arched; then his rigid expression relaxed. “Well, perhaps not so far as that,” he admitted, making my smile widen. “But I can tell you I was not best pleased to receive Mr. Deacon’s message. Particularly as I was meeting with my superintendent at the time.”
I glanced toward the butler where he stood on the opposite side of the room next to Constable Stephens. His smug expression made it clear he thought he’d won the day.
“Well, I do apologize for the inconvenience, and I shall now leave the matter in your capable hands.”
He seemed surprised, and perhaps a little suspicious, of my easy capitulation. “Thank you.”
I tilted my head toward the trio of maids where they whispered together. “But I do think you’ll find it interesting that the sandy-haired maid—her name is Maisie—saw into the study before Mr. Deacon shut the door in the other servants’ faces. And she recalls quite clearly that a window was open.” I turned to stare into the inspector’s dark eyes, wondering how he would react to such a revelation. “I was under the impression the windows were closed.”
His gaze shifted over my shoulder toward the butler. “As was I.”
I’d been right, then. Deacon had closed the window before Scotland Yard had arrived, and yet he was supposedly preserving the scene for the police. This could be a critical piece of evidence. For one, it called into question the butler’s reliability and made me wonder what else he might have tampered with in the room. And two, it showed that the murderer could have entered and exited through the window. That the culprit might not have been someone within the marquess’s household.
Rockham’s study was not on the ground floor, but if I remembered correctly, the roof of the portico ran beneath his window. Someone could have feasibly climbed down from the portico with the aid of a ladder or by some other means and escaped through the garden. There was no need to point this out to the inspector, for I knew he would discover it in short order.
Of course, there was always the possibility the killer had opened the window simply to confuse matters, so Ada was not cleared, but now there was doubt.
I could tell by the hard line of Thoreau’s jaw that he was displeased. And he was about to be more so.
“I also learned from the footman, William, that Lord Rockham received a visitor a few hours before the dinner party. Apparently several members of the staff heard them quarreling rather heatedly. Including Mr. Deacon.”
The inspector’s eyes kindled with anger. “I see.”
I expected some of his irritation to be directed at me for stealing a march on him, but I knew most of it was reserved for Deacon. Though one would never have known it from the way he kept his glare pinned on me.
“Well, I wish this footman had seen fit to inform me of this quarrelsome visitor when I spoke with him yesterday, and I should hope the maid would have revealed as much when we returned to question her today. But nonetheless, you have ably loosened their tongues.”
Recognizing when retreat was the better part of valor, I lowered my gaze to the row of dainty shell buttons along the left sleeve of my slate-blue voile blouse, straightening them before I clasped my hands demurely before me. “I shall go visit Lady Rockham in her private parlor. Or will that be too intrusive?”
His lips quirked cynically. “Mrs. Kent, I suspect her ladyship is already aware of your presence, and should I try to speak with her before she sees you, she would undoubtedly refuse.”
“Probably,” I conceded.
He scrutinized my features. “If I agree to allow you to speak with her, will you promise not to tell her any of the details you’ve just relayed to me?”
I considered his request and decided it was more than reasonable. If Ada was as innocent as I believed, then she wouldn’t know anything about the window. And if she knew about her husband’s angry visitor, then Inspector Thoreau could glean that from her. “Yes, you have my word.”
He nodded his head toward the door. “Go on.”
Deacon’s smug expression had turned to one of misgiving, and when I strolled past him to exit the dining room, I couldn’t resist offering him an untroubled smile. His eyes narrowed, and he would have followed me had the inspector not called out and asked him to remain.
I found Ada lounging on the green velvet chaise in her private parlor, idly twirling the sash of her vermillion silk dressing gown. It was rare to catch her in such an unguarded moment. Normally she was much like an actress on the stage, playing some part, be it marchioness, coquette, muse, or jeune fille. But in that moment, she was none of those things.
Her eyes were troubled and ringed with shadows, indicating she’d endured a restless night. One of many, if the sleeping pills Inspector Thoreau questioned her about were any indication. Though still undeniably lovely, her complexion bordered on sallow, and in the harsh sunlight glinting through the windows I could pick out fine lines at the corners of her eyes and around her mouth. Lines that seemed to deepen in contemplation of some unhappy topic. Whatever the truth of the murder, one thing was evident. Before me sat an uneasy woman.
The moment passed before I could form more of an impression than that, and she turned to me with a sad smile, her features conforming once again to some mask.
“Verity, there you are.” She tilted her head upward as I came forward to buss her poppy-scented cheek before sitting in the Hepplewhite chair beside her. “McTavy told me you were interviewing the staff.” A spark of mischief lit her eyes. “Much to Deacon’s chagrin.”
“Yes, well, I was doing so until he sent for Scotland Yard.”
The amusement fled from her face. “Odious man.”
“But not before I uncovered one or two things that have caused Chief Inspector Thoreau to question Deacon’s veracity. And more importantly, your viability as a suspect.”
Her eyes widened with shock and then delight. “Truly?”
I nodded.
“Oh, Verity, you are an absolute doll! I knew you were sharper than these coppers. Though I imagine that inspector wasn’t pleased to discover you’d outwitted him.”
“I don’t think it’s a matter of outwitting,” I demurred, not wanting to give her the wrong idea. “I’m sure the police would have uncovered the same information eventually.” So long as William and Maisie had been comfortable confiding in them.
But Ada wasn’t even listening. “It’s too bad you’re so devoted to your husband. Otherwise the inspector might be even more persuaded by your charms. I think he rather fancies you.”
I scowled at this suggestion, not only finding it to be in poor taste, but also rather insulting. I did not use physical intimacy as a means to gain information or to get my way. Facts and evidence should be enough to persuade Thoreau.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” she retorted. “I was merely suggesting a bit of flirtation, not letting him tumble you.” She tilted her head. “Though, the inspector is rather intense.” She arched her eyebrows. “And you know what that means.”
“Ada, do not be coy with Inspector Thoreau,” I warned her.
She smirked, stretching her arms overhead and sinking deeper into the chaise. “Oh, darling, I know better than to do that.”
But the glint in her eyes told me she was considering doing just that.
“I mean it. Sidney and I have done our research, and the chief inspector is not one to indulge in idle flirtation. And he absolutely despises sentimentality. If you don’t want him to take a crotchet into his head against you, you’ll be discreet and restrained.”
She sighed. “Well, that’s no fun. I was so looking forward to playing the grieving widow—wailing and gnashing my teeth.”
I knew she was being sarcastic, but her jest was decidedly out of place.
“That goes for your evening excursions as well.”
Her gaze dropped to meet mine, wide with alarm. “You don’t know what you’re asking of me! I can’t sit here night after night with only myself for company.”
I gripped the arms of my chair, leaning toward her. “You can and you must. If you begin parading through London’s nightclubs on the arm of your lover less than forty-eight hours after your husband’s death, it won’t matter what the evidence says. People will assume you did it. And Scotland Yard will be more obliged to make it so. You don’t need any more strikes against you.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at me. “Why should I care what they think? They can’t convict me of something I didn’t do.”
“Yes, they can,” I bit out sharply, having had enough of her foolhardiness and defiance. “With enough evidence and a poor enough impression, they can hang you for this, regardless of the truth.”
Her face blanched.
“You asked me for my help, but I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.” I pushed to my feet and turned to go, but Ada grabbed my hand, preventing me.
“No, Verity. Please, don’t go,” she pleaded, clutching my hand to her breast. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I’ll do whatever you say. Just please don’t go.” Her face was stricken with panic, and even knowing what a talented actress she was, I had difficulty believing it wasn’t genuine. It was perhaps the first genuine emotion I’d seen her display in the past three days.
She swallowed. “I’m . . . I’m frightened, Verity.” Her voice was naught but a raspy whisper.
In the face of this admission, I couldn’t walk away. I sank down beside her on the chaise and gathered her to my side. Perhaps the words had been a ploy, but I didn’t think so. Not when I could feel how she trembled. She truly was terrified.
When the worst of her shaking had subsided, I voiced the question I had originally come here to ask. “Ada, were you aware that Rockham was converting to Catholicism?”
“Thoreau asked me the same question yesterday evening,” she murmured so softly I almost couldn’t hear her. “And I don’t think he believed my answer.” She pulled back to look up at me. “No, I didn’t know.” Her mouth twisted cynically. “He rarely shared anything with me.” Her gaze dropped to the bronze-toned rug. “In the beginning, I thought that was because there was nothing to share. It wasn’t until later that I realized he simply didn’t care enough to do so.”
Gazing at her stricken expression, I wondered how much of her previous behavior had been an attempt to deny the truth. After all, I’d also used my fair share of bravado and outrageous behavior to mask the pain and fear I was feeling, not only from others, but also from myself. Upon occasion, this had served me well, particularly during my time with the Secret Service. But that didn’t mean it was always the best course of action—for myself or for Ada. In this case, all I could do was hope she listened and heeded my counsel.
* * *
Though we’d traveled just the distance of two blocks, I’d already counted three stifled groans from Sidney. In all honesty, I couldn’t blame him for his impatience. Our cabbie did appear to be the slowest and most cautious in all of London. In marked contrast, my husband was notorious for his speed and recklessness behind the wheel. He was chafing under his desire to get his hands on his new Pierce-Arrow, which would not be delivered for at least another three weeks, and this sedate drive was almost too much to bear.
“What of your errand this morning?” I asked, seeking to distract him. I had climbed into the cab to join him just moments before as we set off toward Bloomsbury. “Were you able to make Mr. Waters’s acquaintance?”
He exhaled a long breath, suppressing his growing frustration with the cabbie. “Yes, though he was still abed at his brother’s house when I dropped in to pay Lord Larchmont a call.” A glint of something shimmered in his eyes. “Larchmont was only too happy to have an excuse to pull him from his slumber. I gather he’s grown rather tired of his brother’s indolent, spendthrift ways. Particularly when he doesn’t have the means to support it.”
“Did he vouch for his brother’s alibi?”
“He did not. In fact, he seemed very certain his brother was not at home during the hours in question. Even went so far as to rebuke him for lying when Waters tried to claim he was.”
I arched my eyebrows in surprise, at which Sidney’s lips quirked in amusement.
“Told him he was an idiot to think we wouldn’t catch him out in his lie.” He shook his head. “So I think we can count on Larchmont not to fib for him. Or to stifle his own low opinion of his brother’s activities. He certainly didn’t hide his disapproval of his brother’s marked attentions to Lady Gertrude Tennyson.”
“Does he suspect his own brother of fortune-hunting?”
“Something like that. Larchmont cautioned him against doing anything that might harm the girl’s reputation.” He glanced sideways at me. “I gather it’s a familiar refrain.”
That his own brother did not appear to trust or respect him did not speak well of Mr. Waters.
“Then where was Mr. Waters during the time Rockham was murdered? Did he say?” I asked, referring back to the matter at hand.
Sidney’s voice dripped with condescension. “He doesn’t remember.”
“Now that I don’t believe for a minute.”
“Neither did I. Or Larchmont. But neither do we have proof he was anywhere near Rockham House.”
“But he could have been. And that keeps him firmly on my list of potential suspects.”
Sidney nodded. “Mine as well. He’s undeniably a shady character. I don’t blame Rockham for sending him away with a flea in his ear.”
The cab slowed as we merged with the heavy traffic at Oxford Circus. Large placards plastered the buildings, advertising everything from vitamin tonic to music lessons, while even more colorful signs festooned every bus trundling through the streets, urging me to buy Hudson’s soap or Colman’s mustard. Only buildings like Peter Robinson’s department store remained untouched, a reminder of the days before such blatant advertisements became the norm. Along with the flower girls, who still stood next to the lampposts with their wicker baskets filled with bright, cheery blooms, as they’d done for centuries.
