Murder, Sweet Murder, page 20
‘I wonder.’ Rees paused, thinking. ‘Does Mr Hutchinson frequent the Painted Pig? It would be more his sort of place than your father’s.’
‘We will have to ask the tavern-keeper,’ she replied. ‘But that would explain why the meeting with Mr Bustamonte was arranged for there.’
‘Then there is your Uncle Julian’s death,’ Rees said. ‘We know a gentleman called upon Julian before my arrival at the distillery. If that man was Hutchinson, he would have arrived at your father’s house late. Somehow, we must discover when he arrived.’
‘My father will not tell us directly,’ Lydia said.
‘No. We must find another way,’ Rees agreed. Lydia looked at him, her forehead furrowed with worry.
‘What?’ Rees asked. ‘What’s the matter?’
‘I’ve been thinking …’ Her voice trailed off. Rees waited. ‘If my father contrived Benicio’s murder, thinking he was ridding himself of a threat, then he has a strong motive to murder Julian. Far stronger than an argument over the distillery.’ Lydia’s voice broke. She shook her head fiercely. ‘Julian knew about the murder of Roark’s father. And he was willing to testify to it. Even my father could not have survived that scandal.’
Rees nodded to show he understood. It was not only a plausible motive but a likely one as well. ‘That doesn’t mean your father conspired to commit the murders,’ he said, although he thought she was probably right. Lydia looked at him, her eyes blurred with tears.
‘No,’ she said. ‘But I think we can agree that my father is still the most likely murderer, despite his seemingly iron-clad alibi.’
THIRTY-EIGHT
Neither Rees nor Lydia wished to return to the Farrell home. Like the sword of Damocles, the threat of questioning Marcus Farrell hung over their heads. But they were reprieved – and their rescue came from an unlikely source.
‘Today,’ Mrs Farrell announced at luncheon, ‘we will tour Boston.’
‘What if one of your Society friends sees you?’ Farrell asked.
‘No one from Society attended the funeral,’ Mrs Farrell pointed out. ‘Besides, Cordelia is quite laid low by her uncle’s death.’
Everyone looked at Cordy. She endeavored to appear prostrate with grief. The emotions from yesterday’s funeral had dissipated, apparently leaving no lasting mark. Rees and Lydia exchanged a doubtful glance.
‘This would not be just for me,’ Cordy said, clasping her hands together. ‘Jerusha has seen nothing of the town.’
Since this was true, Mr Farrell nodded. ‘I have far too much work to do to plan on joining you. Besides, I would not be good company.’ His eyes moistened and he looked away from the others. Rees could not help a surge of sympathy. Marcus at least was genuinely grieving.
‘I must beg off as well,’ Rees began. He did not want to drive around Boston admiring elegant buildings. He was not surprised when Mrs Farrell refused to accept his excuse.
‘We must have a male escort,’ she said firmly. ‘Besides,’ she added archly, ‘don’t you want to see this wonderful town?’
Lydia stared at her husband with a ‘Please don’t abandon me’ expression.
‘Very well,’ Rees said, submitting with bad grace.
Mrs Farrell proved to be both proud and knowledgeable about Boston. She spoke at length on every grand structure; what had come before and what it was currently. As Rees had seen several of these buildings during his walks, he quickly lost interest and his mind began to wander. Mrs Farrell’s monologue became a steady background buzz that he could ignore.
Could Cordelia be the murderer, he wondered, staring across the carriage at her. She looked particularly fetching today despite her black gown and pelisse, her pale blond hair arranged in artful curls. The scent of roses clung to her in a choking cloud. She chattered gaily to Jerusha as though she had not a thought in her head but her gowns. She looked beautiful and vain and silly, and far too delicate to kill a fly, let alone two men. And Rees could not conceive of any reason she would wish either the young man from the West Indies or her Uncle Julian dead. Although, with her uncle dead, she was one step closer to inheriting a fortune.
Rees’s gaze moved to Mrs Farrell. She was flushed with excitement; the outing agreed with her. Was she aware of her husband’s dealings or had he kept everything from her?
As the carriage headed east, toward the wharves, Rees’s thoughts moved to James. Perhaps he knew his father had not disinherited him? Perhaps he had lied and, knowing Roark’s purpose in Boston, had tried to remove a threat to his patrimony? That would be a strong motive.
But James, in his shabby clothes, did not appear willing to surrender his principles for money. Far from it.
Lydia suddenly jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow and Rees roused himself. The carriage had drawn to a stop outside of Faneuil Hall. Mrs Farrell wanted to know if everyone wished to go inside. Rees, who had already visited the Hall in his pursuit of Roark, shook his head. But Cordy was so eager her companions were carried along on her enthusiasm. ‘You will see such marvelous things,’ she said to Jerusha.
Mrs Farrell was as excited as her daughter.
They had barely gotten through the door when a young man detached himself from his friends and hurried to Cordy’s side. He greeted everyone very politely, bowed over Mrs Farrell’s hand, and expressed his condolences for their recent loss. Blushing and smiling, Cordelia accepted his attention as her due.
‘This is my friend, Eddy,’ Cordy said.
Although short – he did not even reach Jerusha’s height – Edward Bartlett was an uncommonly good-looking young man with thick chestnut hair and dark brown eyes. The cut of his clothing revealed him as the scion of a wealthy family.
‘I wonder how Cordy got word to him that she would be here,’ Lydia murmured.
‘Do you think one of the servants brought a note?’ Rees asked, contemplating the smiling couple.
‘No doubt,’ Lydia said. ‘Cordy probably fancies herself Juliet to his Romeo.’
‘Why isn’t Mrs Farrell more alarmed?’ Rees asked, watching Isabeau smile graciously at the young man.
‘How nice to see you again, Eddy,’ she said warmly. He met her gaze and returned her smile.
‘I thought she and your father were both eager to see Cordy wed to Mr Hutchinson,’ Rees continued.
‘Yes, why isn’t she?’ Lydia wondered, eyeing her stepmother. ‘Of course, this is a public venue. She will not wish to become the subject of malicious gossip. Any more than my family is already,’ she added in a dry voice.
‘How old do you think he is?’ Rees asked. Cordy’s beau looked young.
‘Twenty-five or so. His father still controls the purse strings. If they do not favor my sister, I fear Cordelia is doomed to heartbreak.’
Rees turned to stare at his wife. That was not what the elder Mr Bartlett had told him. Before Rees could say anything, Isabeau called them over to be introduced. ‘Since my daughter seems to have forgotten her manners,’ she said.
‘Of course, I remember Mrs Rees,’ the gentleman said as he bowed.
‘My husband,’ Lydia said, gesturing to Rees.
‘Edward Bartlett,’ the young man said, shaking Rees’s hand with a firm grip.
‘I believe I have met your father,’ Rees said.
Both Lydia and Mrs Farrell looked surprised; Edward looked alarmed. ‘I hope he was polite,’ he said.
After a few minutes of further conversation, young Mr Bartlett made his excuses and took his leave. But Rees saw, when Cordelia offered her hand, the exchange of a small slip of paper. With a sigh, he realized Cordelia had never intended to obey Lydia’s prohibition on meeting her young man. Rees and Lydia would have to keep watch. Again. Only this time they would have to intervene.
When Rees claimed he was too fatigued to continue on the sightseeing tour, Cordelia, who had gotten what she’d wanted from the beginning, made no further demur.
‘I daresay we have seen enough,’ Mrs Farrell agreed, directing them to the waiting carriage. They would not have been able to continue for too much longer anyway. It would soon be dark. Snow was beginning to fall from a steel-colored sky. Rees suspected that this time they would see several inches, more than the dusting Boston had welcomed earlier.
‘Cordy,’ Mrs Farrell said, settling herself more comfortably in the cushions, ‘Mr Bartlett is from a good family. In another few years, when you both are older and he is prepared to support a family, he would have been a perfect match. But not now. Please hand me the note Eddy gave you.’
Cordy clutched it even more tightly. ‘You know his father would not have looked kindly on the match even before the scandal,’ she said, the blush of happiness fading from her cheeks. ‘He and Father were always at loggerheads and after Father ruined him—’
‘I do not think we should be discussing this now,’ Mrs Farrell said, darting a quick glance at Rees and Lydia. ‘It is not appropriate. Edward Bartlett’s note, please.’
‘I am comfortable enough with my sister and her husband to share the entire sorry tale,’ Cordy said. ‘The truth is, Mr Bartlett and my father have always loathed each other—’
‘Please do not regard my Cordelia,’ Mrs Farrell said quickly, turning to Lydia. ‘They quarreled over a business deal. I don’t understand all of it but there were hard feelings. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the events that occurred afterwards.’
‘Oh, I wish I was an orphan,’ Cordelia cried. ‘Then Eddy and I could marry. I do not want to wed Mr Hutchinson.’
‘Do not be so dramatic, Cordelia,’ Isabeau said. ‘It is unbecoming. Hand me the note. Now.’
‘I’ve barely had a chance to read it,’ Cordy complained as she handed the missive to her mother. Isabeau dropped the paper into her reticule. ‘The world hates me,’ Cordy continued.
Rees grinned, amused. He glanced at Lydia and saw her answering smile. But, as she leaned forward and put her hand over her sister’s, Lydia’s smile faded, and her lips thinned into a frown of determination. ‘Don’t worry, Cordy,’ she murmured. It sounded like a promise.
As they deposited their outer clothing with Morris, Lydia asked if he knew when her father planned to return home.
‘He is in his office now,’ Morris said.
‘So early?’ Lydia said, exchanging a glance with her husband.
‘He suffered an attack of the ague,’ Morris said with a frown.
‘I feared he returned to the office too soon,’ Mrs Farrell said, shaking her head. ‘He didn’t rest.’
Turning toward Rees, Lydia murmured, ‘I don’t suppose there is any point in putting this off.’
Rees nodded glumly and followed his wife to Mr Farrell’s office door.
He was sitting at his desk, head resting in one hand while the other held a rug tightly about his shoulders. He looked up before Lydia knocked and barked, ‘Come in, then. Did you enjoy the drive?’
‘Very much,’ Lydia said politely.
‘What do you want?’
‘Where is Mr Hutchinson?’ Rees asked.
‘At my office. Why?’
‘I wished to discuss his financial situation with you,’ Lydia said.
‘What? Why?’ Mr Farrell looked up in astonishment. He was no more surprised than Rees, who turned to stare at his wife.
‘I feel it prudent to confirm he is able to support Cordy, should this courtship go forward,’ Lydia said smoothly.
Mr Farrell chuckled. ‘Of course he is well able to support her. I would not countenance the connection if I thought he could not.’
‘Where is he living now?’ Lydia asked. ‘Does he own a house?’
‘He is living in lodgings,’ Mr Farrell said. ‘At 34 Hanover Street. But he is building a fine house on Beacon. By the time Cordelia is old enough to marry, it should be finished and entirely furnished. Neither she, nor you, will have anything to complain of.’
Lydia nodded, smiling slightly, while Rees stared at her in frank admiration. He would not have thought of couching his question so indirectly. Instead, he would have blurted it out and probably been told to mind his own business for his pains.
‘And will he treat her well?’ Lydia asked, the words almost wrung out of her.
Raising his head, Farrell stared at his daughter.
‘Of course he will,’ he replied, bristling. ‘I will watch him and make certain he does.’
Lydia nodded and turned to go.
‘I thought … I expected Micah to make a good husband for you,’ Mr Farrell said to his daughter’s back. ‘I did not expect … I did not realize …’ He hemmed and hawed a second longer and finally forced out the words, ‘I’m sorry.’
Although Lydia hesitated, she did not turn around. After a few seconds, she continued on through the door.
Darkness was falling. It was too late to begin searching for Mr Hutchinson’s lodgings, although still several hours before dinner. Rees and Lydia climbed the stairs to her bedchamber. Dropping into the chair by the fire, he kicked off his shoes and stretched his stockinged feet toward the fire.
‘Cordy and Mr Bartlett were planning another meeting.’ Lydia sat down across from him, knotting her hands together.
‘Yes,’ Rees agreed. ‘But your stepmother took the note.’
‘Cordy still read it. She knows what it says. We’ll have to keep a watch on her, that foolish child.’
A tentative knock sounded on the door. Lydia hurried to open it, startling the maid who was carrying a tray. Coffee, tea and sandwiches. ‘I asked for sandwiches instead of cake,’ Lydia said as she watched the maid place the tray on the table. ‘After eating cake, I am hungry again an hour later.’
Rees ran a thumb around his waistband; it was growing snug. But he helped himself to several sandwiches anyway. He didn’t want Lydia to eat alone and anyway eating helped make his sugarless coffee palatable.
THIRTY-NINE
Rees arose early the following morning, a struggle since he had waited by the window until well after midnight. He had expected to see Cordy sneaking out but, to his relief, she had not made an appearance.
Both he and Lydia had agreed they would begin their inquiry into Mr Hutchinson with Cordelia since, outside of Marcus Farrell, she had spent the most time in Hutchinson’s company. They hurried down to the breakfast room early to make sure they were already there when Cordelia came downstairs.
To their disappointment, she quickly disavowed all knowledge of Mr Hutchinson’s inclinations or interests.
‘I have seen him only a few times,’ she said. ‘Almost always in my mother’s company. Or in my father’s.’ She grimaced. ‘When he was still just my father’s employee.’
‘Huh,’ Rees grunted in dissatisfaction.
‘We are trying to determine his movements,’ Lydia said.
Cordelia’s expression brightened with interest. ‘Do you think he might be the murderer? Why, nothing could serve us better. My father would be declared innocent and I …’ Her voice trailed away but her intent was clear. If he were the guilty man, she would not have to marry him.
‘What do you know of him?’ Rees asked.
Cordelia’s lips drooped. ‘Nothing. Except he displays an inordinate interest in politics. What do I care who is President? That has nothing to do with me.’
Rees eyed her with disfavor. ‘Politics affects everyone’s life,’ he said.
‘We are hoping if we can track Mr Hutchinson’s movements, we will know if it is even possible he could be the murderer,’ Lydia said.
‘I wish I could help you,’ Cordelia said, shrugging. ‘Truly, I do.’
‘Help with what?’ asked Mrs Farrell as she entered the breakfast room. She picked up the teapot. ‘This is cold.’
‘With Mr Hutchinson’s movements,’ Cordy said.
‘Mr Hutchinson? Why?’ Mrs Farrell looked from Lydia to Rees and back again. Rees, who had hoped to keep this investigation secret, said nothing. It was left to Lydia to explain.
‘We wondered if he might be guilty of the murders,’ she said.
‘You aren’t still meddling in that, are you?’ Mrs Farrell said disapprovingly.
‘Uncle Julian’s dead,’ Lydia said. ‘Surely you don’t wish his murder to go unsolved.’ She met her stepmother’s gaze and for a few seconds they stared at one another. Finally, Mrs Farrell replied.
‘No, of course not. But Mr Hutchinson did not murder your uncle. He was here that morning, meeting with your father. As I told you previously, when you were accusing Marcus of the murder. So, Mr Hutchinson could not have done it.’ She smiled.
‘And what time did Mr Hutchinson arrive?’ Lydia asked, unprepared to surrender.
‘I don’t know,’ Mrs Farrell said. ‘He was here when I arose at nine. So, quite early I imagine.’
‘That is early for you,’ Lydia said, shooting a significant glance at her husband. He nodded; message received. Mrs Farrell did not know exactly when Mr Hutchinson had arrived. It could have been early – or later, after the murder of Julian Farrell.
‘I was worried about Marcus. Why are you looking at Mr Hutchinson anyway?’ Mrs Farrell asked. ‘He would have no motive; he is devoted to Marcus.’
‘We just wondered,’ Lydia said airily.
‘I, for one, wish he is guilty,’ Cordelia said. ‘He would be the perfect murderer.’
That was such a callous statement everyone turned to stare at her in shock. ‘Really, Cordy,’ her mother said. ‘How can you say such a thing?’
Cordelia, snorting in an unladylike manner, rose from her seat and flounced from the room. Mrs Farrell glanced at Rees and Lydia and followed.
‘Isabeau did not persuade me Mr Hutchinson is innocent,’ Lydia said as soon as the ladies were gone.
‘I agree,’ Rees said. ‘We know Benicio’s murderer was a young man.’
‘Yes. He was seen running away by that young woman. Since my father could hardly be described as a young man, Mr Hutchinson is a distinct possibility.’
Rees sipped his coffee and grimaced at the bitterness. ‘But why? Because he is working with your father?’
‘Or to protect him?’ Lydia stirred the eggs on her plate.
