Penny for Your Secrets, page 33
And what had been in that note the messenger delivered to her the day before she ran? A threat?
No, it was all too coincidental.
“People often panic in such situations. Maybe she feared you were on to her,” Thoreau suggested. “And it wasn’t until later that her guilt got to her.” But I could tell from the reserved tone of his voice that he held just as many doubts as I did.
“Is that why you dared to come to us with this after being warned away?” Sidney said, speaking up for the first time. “Because Miss Hawkins is dead?”
“That will be my excuse should someone learn of this conversation.” His eyes were sharp with unspoken things. “The investigation will be closed in another day or two. Sooner if we can verify Miss Hawkins’s handwriting, but it appears all other examples of it have disappeared.”
“All?” Sidney asked doubtfully.
Thoreau nodded grimly.
Yet another happenstance to add to the file. I shook my head in disgust. I didn’t believe for one minute that Flossie had committed suicide. And if I was reading Thoreau’s tight-lipped countenance correctly, he didn’t either. But without proof there was nothing we could do. Not when the alternative explanation wrapped everything up so neatly in a bow.
The inspector pushed to his feet.
“Thank you for telling us,” I told him earnestly, though my tight stance might have said otherwise. I trusted he understood my frustration.
He turned to go, but then paused in the doorway. “Oh, and because you’ve been involved with both inquiries, I’ll also take leave to tell you we had one anonymous person come forward to claim Miss Hawkins had been a mistress of Lord Rockham’s at one time. But we haven’t been able to corroborate that with anyone else.” He arched his eyebrows significantly and then strode from the room.
I narrowed my eyes at this suggestion, not trusting it one iota. How very devious of Ardmore. So that if the Zebrina incident should ever come to light, there would be a record—no matter how paltry—of Rockham’s connection to Flossie, and therefore a plausible excuse for why she took Esther’s letters.
I heard the door to our flat shut with a click and, emitting an infuriated little screech, rounded to face the window. If it wouldn’t have been the height of uncivilized behavior, I would have thrown something, such was my rage. Ardmore had been one step, if not ten, ahead of us at every turn.
“I know, darling,” Sidney murmured, placing his hands on my shoulders. “But let’s remember, with Ardmore we must play a long game. He might have outwitted us at this turn, but we’ll catch him in the end.” He turned me to face him. “I would lay my odds on you over anyone else any day.”
I inhaled past the tightness that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in my chest. “Thank you.” I realized he was trying to cheer me, but at the moment it was small consolation.
He squeezed my shoulders. “I mean it, Ver.” His deep blue eyes stared into mine intently. “Don’t let him gum the game. Not when you’re about to confront Ada. That’s exactly what he wants. To rattle you.”
I forced myself to take an even deeper breath, realizing he was right. If I was to have any chance of outsmarting Ardmore, I would need to keep my head about me, to make note of every detail, no matter how small. For if he was to make an error, it would be a tiny one. One so minuscule that it might go unnoticed. Perhaps to all but me. It would be the strike that I would use to finally catch him out.
“Better?” he asked me.
I nodded.
But then he surprised me by leaning down and capturing my mouth in a rather searing kiss. One I felt clear down to my toes.
“What was that for?” I gasped into his mouth when he pulled back.
His lips quirked. “Just because you’re so bloody gorgeous when you’re angry.” He pressed another swift kiss to my mouth before stepping back, forcing me to stand on my own two feet. “Come on. Let’s get you to your appointment with Lady Rockham.”
I felt somewhat disgruntled that he didn’t appear to be nearly as affected by that kiss as I was, but I allowed him to pull me toward the door and help me into my Prussian blue velvet coat with its roll collar.
Despite the nip in the air, we chose to walk to Grosvenor Square—Sidney correctly assuming this would help me subdue whatever remained of my temper. By the time we reached Rockham House, I was as cool as the autumn breeze, and ready for battle.
Ada had asked me not to call on her until midday, but we had deliberately timed our arrival to be about thirty minutes earlier. Not so early that she could fob me off by claiming to still be in bed, but early enough to make her cross. Ada was more likely to let something slip when she was in the heat of anger, as evidenced by her pulling a knife on that woman who had attempted to blackmail her.
Of course, Sidney saw this quite differently. Which is why, in concern for my safety, he’d insisted on accompanying me. Though he agreed to remain downstairs while I spoke to Ada privately. I did not fear Ada turning violent on me, but I promised to be vigilant nonetheless. After all, when working in intelligence, one swiftly learned that the situations that most often turned deadly were the ones no one had ever anticipated.
I was almost surprised to find Deacon still answering the door. Part of me had expected him to give notice, or for Ada to insist her stepson sack him, but it appeared either Deacon was holding his ground or Croyde had proved intractable. Perhaps both.
However, when he opened his mouth to attempt to deny me entrance, I swept past him. “Lady Rockham will see me now, whether she wishes it or not,” I declared, passing him my gloves and hat.
I met his martial gaze with a firm one of my own as I unbuttoned my coat, and I realized perhaps I had been a bit unfair to the man. He was undoubtedly pompous and meddling, but he had recognized something before I had—how false Ada was playing all of us.
Given that fact, and that he could prove a valuable ally if necessary, I softened the gleam in my eye by a fraction—one I trusted he would notice—as I handed him my coat. “You shall want to remain at hand.”
He blinked. It was only one startled flicker of the eyelashes, but for a man of Deacon’s stalwart nature it was every bit as indicative of his astonishment as a loud gasp would be from others.
I climbed the stairs swiftly, not failing to note the sight of Ada’s maid above as she made a quick reversal to hurry back down the hall toward her mistress’s room. Given this, I fully anticipated the stage to be set when I entered her private parlor. I paused just outside, lifting my right foot to untie my shoe, before rapping sharply on the door.
Ada lay draped languidly in one corner of the same green velvet chaise where she’d sat when she last received me. Though attired in naught but a negligee and her vermillion silk dressing gown, I could tell that her hair had been artfully tousled and her face lightly rouged and powdered. Her mask was in place.
“What now?” she scoffed, tucking her leg up underneath her, as McTavy slipped past me into the hall. “Have you come to scold me? While the cat’s away the mice will play?”
I found it interesting that she considered me the cat of this scenario, but chose not to rise to her bait. “No, I’m done with that,” I declared breezily as I settled into the chair across from her, taking a moment longer than normal to arrange my skirts. When I glanced up it was to find a look of mild consternation furrowing her brow.
“I mean it, Verity. I’ll not hear it from you.”
“Of course not.” I laughed in the face of her frown of confusion. “You are a grown woman, are you not? You may do as you please. I’ve no say in the matter.”
“Yes, but aren’t you concerned I shall be implicated for having the audacity to venture out on the town and enjoy myself after such an unspeakable tragedy?” she jeered.
That this had been quoted almost verbatim from someone else, I had no doubt. Just as I had no doubt who that someone was. But I kept my blithe smile firmly affixed. “I rather think you’re already implicated, darling.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
I allowed my brow to pucker. “Well, you’ve known you were the main suspect from the very beginning. I don’t think that has changed despite my best efforts to the contrary.”
Her eyes flashed. “Your best efforts, hmm? Gallivanting off to France. I don’t think you’ve really tried at all. Perhaps you’re no better than the rest of ’em.” She tossed her hand out, presumably at the ubiquitous them. “Perhaps you’d like to see me charged with murder.”
“I’m sorry you feel that way,” I replied calmly. “But I cannot conjure suspects out of thin air. Perhaps if you know something. . . ?” I trailed away in question.
Her gaze searched mine, evidently trying to decipher what I meant, what I knew, but I continued to gaze back at her with what I hoped appeared to be artless candor.
“Ardmore told me suspicion has shifted away from me,” she asserted, twining the belt of her dressing gown around her finger.
“Has it? Toward where?”
“Perhaps that Calloway chap from Rockham’s shipping business. I told you he can’t be trusted.”
I tapped my chin. “Yes, you suggested he must have snuck in the window later and shot him.”
“Precisely!” She nearly leapt from her chair in her vehemence. “You should have been searching for him. Not flapping off to the continent.”
“Except the police had already told me he had a rather incontrovertible alibi.”
Her lashes fluttered. “He does?”
I nodded, watching some of the glibness fade from her face. “And what made you think the window in Rockham’s study was open?”
“I . . . well . . .” she stammered, her eyes flaring wide. “I mean, it was, wasn’t it?” She recovered, arching her chin. “I must have just assumed . . .”
“But why would you assume such a thing? The police implied the suspect came from inside.”
“Yes, well, if it wasn’t a servant, and the house was locked up, then they must have come in through the window,” she insisted, growing angry.
“Not if it was shut and locked as well,” I countered.
“It couldn’t have been.”
“Deacon said it was.”
“Well, he’s lying,” she snarled. “The window wasn’t locked. It was open. I know! I know because I . . .” She broke off before she could finish the thought, but the damage was already done, and the look in her eyes told me she realized it.
I stared at her in shock, almost unable to believe what she’d just admitted. The small part of me that had still not wanted to think her capable of such a thing, capable of such duplicity, shrank from it. But the greater part of me leaned into it, knowing I could not let her slink away from what she’d done.
Meanwhile, her eyes narrowed to slits. “Clever Verity. Too smart for her own good. Ardmore warned me about you.”
“Why should Ardmore need to warn you?” I tilted my head. “Unless he put you up to it?”
She sat taller. “No one put me up to it. It was all me.”
I scowled. “Don’t be a fool, Ada. He used you for his own ends.”
“You’re the fool. Everyone saw how zozzled I was that night, how unbalanced.” Her contemptuous glare let me know how cunning she thought she was that she’d duped everyone. “If the police can find enough evidence against me, it will never stand up against my barristers’ arguments.”
The barristers she’d already told me Ardmore would secure for her. Anonymously, of course.
“They will once I tell them what you’ve told me,” I declared, rising to my feet.
“Now, you see, that’s where your cleverness wears out.” She lifted her hand, wielding a pistol she’d tucked into the cushions of the chaise.
My heart surged in my chest, but I refused to react. After all, it wasn’t the first time I’d had a gun pointed at me. Though it was certainly the most personal.
I arched a single disdainful eyebrow. “So you were the one who tucked that revolver in your chair before dinner. Or perhaps you did take it in with you.”
She shrugged.
“You planned to make that distasteful quip at dinner all along,” I accused. “To provide a reason for your fingerprints to be on the weapon, and as sort of a double bluff.”
“Well, you fell for it, didn’t you?” She gestured with the gun. “As for the fingerprints, I could have simply worn gloves, but that just made me look even more suspicious.”
I slid my right foot slowly from its Derby pump, the tea table blocking my movement. “So, you took the revolver from Deacon’s pocket and waited until all the guests left and the servants retired, and then you crept down to his study and shot him.”
She tipped her head carelessly. “Just as I intend to shoot you.”
“With my husband below and a whole houseful of servants?”
“I’ll do what I must.”
Despite her blasé attitude, I could see the fear reflected in her eyes, the knowledge that she was cornered. Because of this, I knew there was no talking her down. She would do it. In her mind, the coin had been flipped, and she thought she had no choice.
Given that fact, I felt no compunction about what I would have to do next.
“That’s sad to hear. . . .” I broke off, glancing toward the door as if I’d heard something. Then in the same movement, I flipped my shoe at the far wall. With the table in the way, I could not flick it directly at Ada, but nonetheless, I trusted her reflexes to work against her. She jerked the gun at the offending projectile and fired, while I hurled the not inconsiderable weight of my handbag at her head. It struck true. Not that I doubted it would, having played enough rounders and tennis with my brothers to know my aim was accurate.
Before she could recover, I darted around the table, leaping on top of her to grab the pistol. We grappled for only a second before a strategically placed knee in her abdomen forced her to drop it. I pushed off her, backing away as she clutched her head and midsection, cursing foully at me.
Sidney burst through the door a moment later, his pistol drawn, while a rather winded Deacon straggled along behind him, as well as half a dozen other servants. Sidney’s eyes scoured me from head to toe, as if to ascertain I was all in one piece, his gaze pausing for a moment on my shoeless foot.
“My apologies. We seemed to be having a difference of opinion,” I explained airily. “Lady Rockham thought she would shoot me before I could tell the police she’d confessed to Lord Rockham’s murder, while I preferred that she not.”
Sidney’s shoulders dropped. “Dash it all, Verity,” he gasped in relief.
“Well, don’t blame me. It wasn’t my idea.”
At this comment, I caught sight of William’s cheeky grin beyond my husband’s shoulder. Much as I would have liked to issue my next directive to him, I knew to whom the honor must be given. “Send for Chief Inspector Thoreau,” I told Deacon.
His eyes glinted with unholy glee, and I realized he would be even more insufferable than ever. No matter. After today, he would no longer be my problem.
Tucking his own pistol in his pocket, Sidney moved forward to wrap one protective arm around my waist, while he reached for Ada’s pistol with his other hand. I gladly relinquished it to him, taking comfort from his solid presence. As unaffected as I wished to appear, my insides were quaking.
At the sound of sniffling, I glanced up to find Ada’s face turned toward the wall, her shoulders shaking as she wept. Given the fact that she’d just tried to kill me, I had little sympathy to spare her, and serious doubts whether her outpouring of emotion was even genuine. Nonetheless, I wasn’t without mercy. Especially if she was willing to testify against Ardmore, little good that her words alone would do.
“It’s not too late,” I told her. “You can still mitigate your sentence.”
She didn’t turn to look at me, but the sound of her sobs softened, so I knew she was listening.
“Tell us what you know about Ardmore, and I won’t tell the inspector you attempted to shoot me.”
For a moment, I thought she was considering it. That is, until she snarled, “You can go to the devil.”
What power Ardmore had over her, I didn’t know, but he must have held something more, something I’d missed. Ada was nothing if not an opportunist. Which meant that whatever Ardmore was using to guarantee her silence was more than a fickle promise to provide her barristers. Barristers who would be hard-pressed now to get her out of a murder charge she had confessed to.
No, there had to be more. And if it wasn’t some greater leverage keeping her quiet, then it must be fear. But fear of what? Ada did not scare easily. And simply the idea that he had silenced a women like her with such terror made ice slide down my spine.
CHAPTER 30
By the time Thoreau had finished with us and Ada had been hauled off to Scotland Yard, the afternoon was well advanced, and my stomach was protesting my failure to eat luncheon. Sidney led me out the door of Rockham House toward the cab a footman had hailed for us, the late-September sun beating down on its roof.
“Spiro’s, then?” he asked.
“Heavens, yes.” It wouldn’t be a celebration exactly, but at least we would be assured a good meal.
He grinned at my enthusiasm, but my answering smile died on my lips at the sight of the man standing beneath the shade of a plane tree in the square across the street. Sidney’s gaze followed mine over the roof of the motorcar to where Ardmore watched us.
I couldn’t decide if he was here merely to gloat, or if he wished to speak with me, but before I could reconsider, I found my footsteps rounding the boot. Sidney must have tipped the cabbie something for his trouble, for he had to hurry to catch up with me when I was already halfway across the street. A passing motorcar blared its horn, but I ignored it. Whatever Ardmore’s reasons behind this encounter, I was not going to let him think I was afraid or intimidated by him. Nor was I going to be goaded into revealing more than he already knew.
