A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Mayhem, page 10
Eversham hadn’t heard that. Though, of course, he’d been busy over the last year with his pursuit of a killer.
Miss Barton gasped at Thompson’s revelation, but Lady Katherine waved it off. “It’s hardly worth mentioning, Mr. Thompson. I beg you will not make more of it than it is. A man who had read my columns wished to meet me, that’s all.” This had happened before her work with Caro.
“You were afraid for your life at one point, Kate.” Valentine frowned. “Do not make light of it.”
“How awful for you, Lady Katherine.” The magnate’s daughter’s eyes had widened, and she clasped a hand dramatically to her bosom. “I am so glad you weren’t harmed.”
Eversham didn’t like the idea of her having to fend for herself. There were a great many men who would have no qualms about harming a woman as lovely as she was.
Clearly discomfited by the talk of her ordeal, Lady Katherine held up a staying hand. “Let us speak no more of it. It’s a hazard of being in the public spotlight even in such a limited way as I am. Now, I should like to go into the stationer’s and purchase my ink.” She nodded to them and made her way to the door of the shop, and Lord Valentine hurried to open it for her.
Not wishing her to speak to Green before he did, Eversham moved to follow them.
Perhaps realizing his pursuit of Lady Katherine was fruitless, Barton had gone in some moments earlier, and when he stepped into the brightly lit establishment, the detective saw the American was engaged in conversation with a balding man with a naturally hangdog expression. Even so, whatever Barton was saying must have been pleasing to the shopkeeper because his eyes were wide with excitement.
Lord Valentine turned to Eversham, cutting off his view of the conversation near the sales counter. In a low voice, he said, “She won’t thank me for it, but I would ask that you keep an eye on Kate while she’s here. I don’t trust Barton as far as I could throw him, and I’ve business on the other side of the village.”
“I will see to it that she’s returned to you safely, Lord Valentine,” Eversham said stiffly.
He must have revealed more in his words than he’d meant to because the nobleman gave a bark of laughter. “I think you misunderstand things, old man.”
“And what precisely is it that I misunderstand?”
Eversham knew he was being purposely obtuse, but some small part of him wished to hear Valentine say it out loud.
“We are friends.” The other man rolled his eyes. “I have known Kate since I was in short trousers, and she is as close to me as my sisters. But nothing more.”
Something loosened in Eversham’s chest, but he wasn’t ready to examine it more closely.
“I’m sure it’s none of my affair,” he said. Before Valentine could retort, he added, “I will do as you ask.”
His eyes alit with something that seemed suspiciously like amusement, Lord Valentine nodded. “Then I’ll wish you good day.”
Turning his attention to the front of the shop, Eversham saw that Lady Katherine had moved to stand behind where Barton continued to harangue Mr. Green. Striding forward, he was just in time to hear her say into the silence of a pause in the conversation, “I believe I saw your daughter and Mr. Thompson headed for the mercantile, Mr. Barton. If you wish to join them.”
Eversham couldn’t help appreciating Kate’s calculation. A man like Barton, who was on the hunt for a title for his daughter, would not countenance the girl spending time alone with a nobody like Thompson.
And sure enough, no sooner had Lady Katherine spoken than Barton made a hasty excuse and hurried toward the door.
Though Green was no doubt frustrated by the American’s having left without making a purchase, he turned his attention to Lady Katherine and Eversham with the ease of a man who knew how to make a sale.
“Lady Katherine.” The shopkeeper bowed. “It’s a pleasure to welcome you. The London Gazette is quite popular even this far from the city. Though I am sorry for the terrible occurrence up at the Hall. Mr. Jones was a favorite around these parts.”
Turning to Eversham, Green continued, “And you must be Mr. Eversham from Scotland Yard.”
The two men shook hands, and Eversham searched the man’s round face for signs of nerves at having an officer of the law in his shop, but could find none.
Green’s round face, framed by bushy side-whiskers that gave him a leonine appearance, seemed innocent enough.
Of course, there were hardened criminals who relied on such traits to exploit others. Eversham much preferred hard evidence.
“It’s a bad business, what happened to Jones,” the stationer continued. “Things like this don’t happen in Lewiston.”
Then, showing the first sign of nerves, Green took out a handkerchief to mop his brow.
Interesting, Eversham thought. Perhaps Green wasn’t feeling as innocent as he looked.
Chapter Nine
Of course, it’s what happened to poor Mr. Jones that brings us here this morning,” Kate said to the shopkeeper, not bothering to keep up the pretense that she’d come here for paper and ink.
“I wonder if there’s somewhere we might speak privately?” Eversham asked, moving closer to her and sheltering their conversation from the villagers behind them in the shop.
Green ran a finger beneath his collar, then asked his wife to watch the store. Stopping to mop his brow again, Green led Eversham and Kate to an office at the back of the shop. The room itself was dominated by a large desk, and once Kate was seated, he sank into the chair behind it. Eversham remained standing.
“Why don’t you tell us about your interactions with Mr. Jones.” Kate strove for a nonthreatening tone.
“He was a nice enough fellow, my lady. Always paid his bills on time, and I never heard anyone in the village speak ill of him.”
“It’s interesting you should say so, Green.” Eversham had taken up a position with his back to the small fireplace, his height doing more to emphasize his authority than his voice did. “We’ve heard that you and Jones had a rather heated argument before he was murdered. Can you please tell us about that?”
Green’s eyes widened, and for a moment Kate thought he might actually run from the room.
“You can’t mean you think I had something to do with the man’s death.” Green laughed nervously. “Of course I didn’t, Mr. Eversham. It was just a disagreement. Nothing to kill a man over.”
“Perhaps if we knew what the argument was about, Mr. Green, we could better determine—” Kate broke off at a speaking glance from Eversham, who clearly was not happy with her asking the questions.
She might have known his tolerance of her questioning Mr. Green was only temporary. Even though she was getting results from Green without making the man shake like a frightened rabbit.
Seemingly oblivious to the interplay between his questioners, Green kept his attention focused on Kate. “It was just that Jones wished to buy some letters I had. But when I said I wasn’t interested in selling, he made some threats.”
At the last word, Eversham straightened. “But you said Jones was ‘a nice enough fellow.’ I don’t think making threats are the actions of a nice fellow. Do you, Mr. Green?”
The stationer looked toward the detective and had the grace to appear sheepish. “Well, that was before I knew you’d heard about the argument, sir.”
She bet it was, Kate thought with amusement. Really, if the people the police normally questioned were this transparent, she wondered that they didn’t catch the criminal at the outset of every investigation.
“Now that you know we know, I’ll thank you to tell us everything, Green. This is a murder investigation. And right now you’re the only person I know who had a disagreement with the dead man.”
At Eversham’s words, the shopkeeper paled. “No, sir. It wasn’t me. I was angry with him, it’s true, but not enough to kill him.”
“Why don’t you start at the beginning?” Kate said in a soothing tone. “Do you have a bit of spirits to help calm your nerves?”
When he indicated a decanter on the sideboard, she poured him a glass and carried it to him, for all the world like they were in a drawing room instead of a mean little office in the back of a village shop.
Eversham remained silent the whole time while she saw to Green’s comfort, but once she’d resumed her seat, he spoke up. “Now, tell us what happened.”
Between sips of brandy, Green told them what had led to his argument with Jones.
Green’s late father, it seemed, had been valet to the man from whom Lord Valentine had won Thornfield Hall, which at the time had been called Philbrick Close, and its surrounding farms. Sebastian Philbrick, in addition to being a prominent landowner in these parts, had been a protégé of Wordsworth, Coleridge, and the other Lake Poets. While never quite as famous as the others, he’d been popular enough to earn a tidy living, and he’d reveled in the success until his excesses had led him to gamble away his estate and he’d died in obscurity not long afterward.
Upon his father’s death, Green had received a bequest of a cache of letters between Philbrick and various people of his acquaintance. Green had sold one between the poet and Wordsworth several years ago and used the proceeds to purchase this very shop.
“Somehow, Jones learned that I had more letters.” Green shook his head a little, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “And he wanted to buy them from me, which I declined. I’ve held on to them this long, and I want to save them so I’ll have something to pass on to my children one day.”
Like everyone else in England, Kate was familiar with the works of Wordsworth and his circle. She’d even read a bit of Philbrick’s verse when Val had first invited her to visit his estate. There was something tragic about the man reaching such celebrity only to fall from such heights into the proverbial gutter.
“From whom are these other letters?” If they were as valuable as the one Green had sold to finance his shop, they might offer a strong motive for murder. Though if that were the case, then it would have been Green rather than Jones who was killed. Unless Green had killed the other man to protect his treasure trove?
“I don’t like to say, my lady.” Clearly the stationer had been spooked by Jones’s interest. “My father was loyal to Mr. Philbrick for many years. I’ll save these until enough time has passed that they won’t bring shame on Mr. Philbrick’s good name.”
Of course, that made Kate want to know more than ever whom the letters were from. But, she reminded herself, they were here to discover who’d killed Jones. Not to satisfy her curiosity about a long-dead poet.
“What was the nature of Jones’s threat?” Eversham moved from his position before the fire to stand next to Kate. So close she could smell the sandalwood scent of his shaving lotion.
It was not, she admitted before suppressing the thought, unpleasant.
Green’s expression turned mulish. Before he could demur, however, Eversham barked out, “You’d better tell us unless you wish to find yourself before the magistrate. A man is dead, Green.”
“I’ll need your word, Lady Katherine, that this won’t end up in the papers,” Green persisted.
“You have it.” Kate had no qualms about giving the promise.
He must have believed her, because Green gave a nod. “Jones claimed to know to whom the letters should have gone after Philbrick’s death. He offered me a chance to sell them to him for less than they were worth. If I didn’t, he said he’d tell the rightful owner so that they could sue me for them.”
“But if Philbrick gave those letters to your father, then they belong to you.” Kate frowned.
A flush crawled up Green’s face.
Eversham gave a low whistle. “Your father stole them, didn’t he?”
“I don’t rightly know, sir,” said Green hastily. “But I know he worked for months for the man without any wages. And when Philbrick lost the estate, my father might have helped himself to a few things to cover expenses.”
“Lord Valentine won both the contents and the house from the previous owner, yes?” Kate asked. “That’s hardly a secret.”
The word of Philbrick’s former home going to the disgraced son of the Duke of Thornfield had spread like wildfire through London society. Once word had reached Lewiston, Kate had little doubt every inhabitant of the county had known within hours. The gossip networks of town were fast, but that was nothing compared with country word of mouth.
“Jones claimed it wasn’t Lord Valentine.” Green shrugged.
“Philbrick died without issue, didn’t he?” Eversham asked, his brows furrowed. “Could there be some heir we don’t know about?”
“He was lying to get the letters for himself.” Green seemed to believe what he said. “A man like that, come down in the world, he wanted a way to get himself out of service. I know what that’s like, thanks to my father. So he hit on a scheme to trick me out of my inheritance.”
Someone’s inheritance anyway, Kate thought.
“He was overheard saying he’d, ah”—Eversham glanced at Kate with apology—“‘see you in hell first.’ What did he mean?”
“I told him that if he didn’t take himself off, I’d have a word with Lord Valentine about what he was trying to do.” He rubbed his shining pate in discomfort. “I wouldn’t have done it, of course.”
“Because you couldn’t risk Lord Valentine learning about the letters, you mean?” Kate asked sweetly. “The letters that might rightly belong to him?”
“All I can go by is what my father told me,” Green said defensively. “And he did say that Mr. Philbrick gave them to him for safekeeping so—”
Perhaps not wishing to spook the man any further, Eversham spoke before he could finish. “Was that the last time you saw Jones?”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Eversham.” Green had perhaps recognized that he couldn’t afford to get on the bad side of the law now that he’d revealed his secret about the letters. “The next I’d heard was that he’d been found murdered. And I swear to you I had nothing to do with it. I was in Bristol picking up supplies in any event.”
Recognizing that they’d learned all they could from the shopkeeper, Kate rose. She and Eversham were nearly out of the office when Green called after her. “You won’t tell Lord Valentine, will you, my lady? About the letters?”
Kate turned back to look at him.
Though her father was the Marquess of Edgemont, they’d hardly been wealthy—which had been the primary reason her parents had been so keen to secure her marriage to George Bascomb, a wealthy businessman. Before the influx of cash from her marriage settlement, they’d only been able to employ a few loyal servants who were willing to work for low wages. A man like Philbrick, whose fortunes had risen and fallen based on the success of his writing, couldn’t have been the steadiest of employers. Even loyal servants needed to be paid.
Perhaps the elder Mr. Green had been given the letters; perhaps he’d taken them in lieu of payment for his services. Either way, she didn’t see that they would be of interest to Valentine, who was wealthy in his own right, thanks to a legacy from his grandmother and some shrewd investing.
“I won’t tell him.” She tried to imbue her tone with all the reassurance she could muster.
Once they’d stepped back onto the street outside the shop, Eversham said wryly, “You were quick enough to give away Lord Valentine’s property. Remind me never to let you act as my broker.”
“Val has more money than the queen.” Kate dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Besides, I promised Green I wouldn’t tell Val. I didn’t say about what.”
Eversham’s laugh was long enough to frighten a nearby horse.
* * *
Eversham accompanied the rest of the party from Thornfield back to the house. He’d hoped to use the opportunity on the way to speak to Val about his relationship with Jones, but that had proved impossible. While he and Kate were speaking to Green, the master of Thornfield had returned to the household ahead of them.
Not long after they set out, Eversham noticed that Barton seemed intent on monopolizing Lady Katherine for the duration of the journey. He could hardly tell the American to desist when the man’s only other choices for conversation were his daughter and the feckless Mr. Thompson. Given the same choice, he’d have chosen Lady Katherine, too. Still, he noted the strained nature of her expression when Barton began to describe, yet again, just how large his house on Fifth Avenue in Manhattan was.
So, he set himself to draw the other man’s attention away from her by peppering him with questions about the nature of American policing, and though Barton seemed frustrated at the diversion at first, his desire to extol the virtues of his own nation in opposition to England was too strong to ignore.
They’d reached the main entrance to Thornfield by the time Barton grew weary of the topic and made his escape, and Eversham watched him go with some degree of satisfaction.
“That was a very nice gesture, Inspector.” Lady Katherine spoke in a low voice that could be heard only by him as they stepped into the marble entryway of the house. “Though I don’t need rescuing. I could have put him in his place easily enough.”
Watching as she handed her pelisse to the waiting servants, Eversham noted the wisps of dark hair along the nape of her neck and, in his mind’s eye, saw himself lowering his lips to them.
What the devil? He shook his head a little, and by the time she’d turned to face him, he’d got himself back under control.
“So, I take it from your silence that you agree with me?” Her eyes were lit with amusement.
Belatedly he realized he’d missed her words entirely.
Get it together, man.
Before he could form a response, however, he heard a high-pitched noise coming from the direction of the staircase followed by a cry of “Katie!”
