A Lady's Guide to Mischief and Mayhem, page 8
“Are you saying that you suspect we will be poor witnesses, Mr. Eversham?” Lady Eggleston clutched a hand to her bosom. “What an absurd notion. Everyone knows that the lower classes have a natural inclination to commit crime. One has only to look at the backgrounds of those sitting in this nation’s jails to prove my point.”
“My dear Lady Eggleston.” Lady Katherine’s voice was deceptively soft. “I will ask you to have a care when making such nonsensical pronouncements. Especially given that not everyone at this table had the good fortune to be born into the upper echelons of society. And yet, I feel I can safely say that none of them are known to have been culpable in any crimes.”
Lady Eggleston had the grace to color at her rudeness. But Eversham heard her mutter about what happened when upper and lower classes mixed.
What had prompted Lord Valentine to invite people with such views to a house party that included guests from such a variety of backgrounds? Eversham wondered.
“I beg your pardon,” said the countess, her lips pinched. “It was not my intention to insult my fellow guests.”
“Very prettily said, Lady Eggleston,” said the American, Mr. Barton. “Of course, in the States we enjoy a freer mixing of the classes than you do here. Why, it’s not unheard of to see a coal miner seated at the table with the owner of the mines where he’s employed.”
“I don’t recall ever having any of your miners seated at our table in New York, Papa,” said Miss Barton with a guileless expression that surely covered a mind bent on mischief. “In fact, I believe you said once that—”
“Never mind what I said, daughter.” The industrialist scowled. “I was merely indicating that things are very different back home.”
Eversham took the opportunity to ask, “You are a very long way from home, Mr. Barton. What brings you to our fair shores?”
“He means to find me a noble husband,” Miss Barton said baldly.
At the same moment, her father said, “Business, Mr. Eversham.”
“Of course,” Eversham continued without letting on that he’d heard Miss Barton. “Business. And is there much business to be had in the Lake District?”
Perhaps taking pity on the father and daughter, Lady Katherine spoke up. “A trip to the Lakes is de rigueur for any visitor to England, Mr. Eversham. You must, if you haven’t been here before, take a few days for yourself to explore the countryside.”
“I will be sure to do so, my lady.” He inclined his head. “I understand you all were exploring one of the local walks when Mr. Jones was found.”
And the conversation moved on to the reason for his presence here at Thornfield in the first place.
But he couldn’t help reflecting on Lady Eggleston’s pronouncement about the propensities of the lower classes. He knew such notions were wrongheaded, but there was no mistaking that class differences could cause conflict. Especially when one found they had fallen several rungs on the social ladder, serving those they once rubbed shoulders with.
The note on the man’s body had said he “bore false witness.” Could Jones have angered someone by lying about the circumstances that had led to his change in fortune? Or perhaps he’d been putting on airs he no longer had the right to?
He would need to speak with the servants first thing tomorrow to find out.
Chapter Seven
To Kate’s relief, the inspector didn’t insist upon questioning the assembled guests about the murder right there at the dinner table. Despite that small mercy, however, she was relieved when it was finally time for the ladies to withdraw to the parlor for tea, leaving the gentlemen to their port and cigars.
Under normal circumstances, she would have chafed at the ridiculous social convention that held ladies up as too fragile to drink strong spirits or hear ribald jests. But after the fractious conversation at dinner and the frisson of awareness she felt every time she glanced in Eversham’s direction, she was grateful for the respite.
Not for the first time, she wished that Caro had accompanied her on this trip. If only so she’d have someone to discuss the fact that the detective they’d only a couple of weeks ago been criticizing for his handling of the Commandments killings was here investigating a murder that was eerily similar to the earlier ones.
Her reverie was interrupted by the appearance of Lady Genevieve Thorn at her side. “I hope you’re not suffering any ill effects of your encounter on the trail.”
Kate had always found Val’s sister to be a pleasant, if somewhat distant, sort of person. Try though she might to become closer to her, Kate’s overtures of friendship had always met with friendly, but firm, rebuffs. Perhaps it arose from Genevieve’s writing, which must keep her in the role of observer rather than participant. Or maybe she just didn’t feel any kind of kinship with Kate. Despite the fact that both ladies were wordsmiths, there was a rather wide gulf between the sort of essays and articles Kate wrote and the high melodrama that Lady Genevieve penned. Just because Kate counted her brother as a close friend didn’t mean that Genevieve would get on as easily with her.
Still, she was grateful for the concern she saw in the other woman’s expression. “I am well, thank you.” Genevieve offered her a cup of tea, which she accepted with a nod. “I won’t pretend that the entire incident wasn’t upsetting, but my concern is for poor Mr. Jones rather than myself. Did you know him well?”
Lady Genevieve lowered herself to the settee beside her. A childhood accident had left her with a rather severe limp, but as far as Kate could tell, she didn’t let it keep her from doing as she pleased. “He was already employed as the estate manager here when Val took over the estate. I met him a few times prior to this visit, but we were hardly close. He seemed pleasant enough, poor fellow.”
There was a pause and Kate noted the way that she plucked at the folds of her gown, her hands restless. As if sensing Kate’s gaze on her, Genevieve colored.
“I know I should probably tell Mr. Eversham,” she said with a slight frown, “but you know as much as anyone about the Commandments Killer, and I rather think you’re in a better position to know whether what I saw could be related to Mr. Jones’s murder before I bring it to the inspector.”
Kate’s brows lowered. “What did you see?”
Genevieve glanced at the other side of the room, where the rest of the ladies chatted over the tea tray, oblivious to the seriousness of the conversation taking place here. “It’s just that when I was in the village a few days ago, I stopped in at the stationer’s for ink and I overheard an argument between Mr. Green, the proprietor, and Mr. Jones. I don’t think they’d heard me come in, you see, and well”—she leaned in closer—“it got rather heated.”
Her mind racing, Kate said in a low voice, “What were they saying?”
“I didn’t hear the beginning of the discussion, so I don’t know what precisely they were arguing over,” Genevieve said slowly, “but Mr. Jones said very clearly, ‘I’ll see you in hell first,’ then strode out of the office with his face as dark as a thundercloud. I don’t even think he saw me there. And when Mr. Green came out a moment or two later, he was scowling until he saw me and he seemed to get hold of himself. Of course, I couldn’t ask what had happened without revealing what I’d heard. So I pretended as if nothing was amiss and requested my ink.”
Kate had been prepared for the tale to be a little overblown, if she was honest. She was rather fond of Genevieve’s novels, but they were nothing if not sensational. But Jones’s words spoke for themselves. He must have been angry indeed to have threatened Mr. Green like that. Could the stationer have been responsible for the steward’s death?
Aloud she replied, “You handled the matter exactly the right way. You had no way of knowing what would happen to Mr. Jones. Not to mention that it’s doubtful either man would have appreciated your intrusion into what was doubtless a private matter.”
“I certainly couldn’t have brought it up to Mr. Jones even if I’d wanted to.” Genevieve shook her head ruefully. “He stormed off before I’d even had a moment to draw breath.”
Her eyes, so like her brother’s, were troubled. “Do you think this might have had something to do with the reason Mr. Jones was murdered? I know there was a note on the body, like in the other Commandments killings, but it’s possible the killer wanted to draw attention away from himself by implicating someone else.”
It was a theory Kate had contemplated from the moment she saw the note pinned to the dead man’s chest. She wanted to discuss the matter with Eversham, but given he thought she was responsible for the near demise of his career with the Metropolitan Police, she didn’t think he’d be willing to share with her what he knew.
“It’s possible,” she told Genevieve. “You needn’t worry about telling Mr. Eversham about this. I’ll tell him for you.”
The relief on the other woman’s face was palpable. “Thank you. I know I should have the courage to tell him myself, but I dislike too much attention. I am supposed to be using this visit to work on my next book, but Val will insist that because I’m acting as hostess, I need to be sociable.”
Kate laughed. “You are acting as his hostess, my dear. It seems as if being sociable is part of the bargain.”
“You needn’t remind me. I’m only grateful he doesn’t parade eligible men before me like our mother does in the hopes that I’ll marry one of them.”
“It is the way of things.” Kate smiled. “Even when the daughter in question is wealthy in her own right and has no need of a husband to keep her in pin money.”
“I don’t suppose you’re willing to marry Val so that I might have some peace?” Genevieve’s normally serious face broke into an impish smile.
“Not a chance.” Kate shook her head. “I’ve had quite enough of marriage to last a lifetime. Besides, your brother is far too stubborn to suit me. If I marry again, and that’s a rather emphatic if, it will be to someone who is willing to make a partnership of it instead of ruling the roost.”
At that moment, the gentlemen began to drift into the room. Kate couldn’t help noting that Eversham, in his borrowed finery, was every bit as handsome as Valentine. His light brown hair, a little shorter than was the fashion, shone gold in the lamplight, and the planes of his face were as finely drawn as a Greek statue’s.
“He’s not what I’d have expected of a policeman.” Genevieve smiled wryly. “In that suit he could almost pass for a gentleman.”
Despite her antagonism for Eversham, Kate felt herself bristle at the implication he was somehow inferior to the other men here. “He is the grandson of a baronet, I believe. So I hardly think the claim is as outlandish as that.”
Perhaps recognizing her snobbery, Lady Genevieve colored. “Pay no attention to me. Sometimes, despite my determination to be nothing like her, my mother’s views on the world slip out of my mouth. Of course he’s a gentleman. And even if he weren’t gently born, it should hardly matter. Next I’ll be spouting off the same sort of nonsense as Lady Eggleston about the lower classes being born to commit crimes.”
Kate acknowledged the apology with an inclination of her head.
They were forestalled from further conversation by the arrival at their side of Mr. Barton. But across the room, Kate saw Eversham glance their way, her eyes meeting his for the barest moment before Kate looked away.
Not daring to look again, she plied her fan to cool the flush she felt in her face and turned her attention to the blustering industrialist.
* * *
Later, when the assembled guests were making their way up the grand staircase toward bed, Eversham found Lady Katherine at his elbow.
“I wonder if I might have a word, Inspector.”
Though he’d begun to reconcile himself to the agreement he’d made with her about allowing her to assist him with the case, his conversation with Lady Genevieve about Jones’s position in the household had reminded him just what sort of world Lady Katherine hailed from.
While she seemed to hold more egalitarian views on the British class system than most aristocrats, she had still been born the daughter of an earl. And in Eversham’s experience, the upper classes weren’t entirely to be trusted.
He was honest enough to admit he found her desirable. But he’d do his best to keep from succumbing to his attraction for her.
“How can I help you, my lady?”
Eversham noted that they were now several feet behind the others and it was with a sense of inevitability that he watched her pause, ostensibly to look closer at a particularly ugly painting of a sheep.
“It rather looks like my great-aunt Ermentrude.” He nodded toward the pastoral scene.
“She had curly white hair, then?” Lady Katherine asked in a deceptively serious tone. “Or perhaps you mean she had hooves?”
“None of that. It’s just that she was a bit of an embarrassment to the family.”
Lady Katherine frowned. “How so?”
“Well, for starters,” Eversham said gravely, “she was a very baa-d card player.”
There was a long moment of silence before she let out a low laugh that resonated along his spine. And lower parts.
“You’re awful.”
He shrugged slightly. “You chose this bit of distraction. I would have gone with the battlefield scene over there.”
Shaking her head, she pushed past him into a doorway to the right of the sheep. Curious despite his earlier warning to himself, Eversham followed.
It was a small sitting room with a fire burning genially and a pair of deep armchairs arranged invitingly near the hearth.
But Lady Katherine was not interested in the comfort of the scene.
She strode dramatically forward and turned, the skirts of her deep crimson gown whispering over the thick carpets.
“Lady Genevieve overheard Mr. Jones in a heated conversation with the local stationer a few days before his murder,” she said. “It must mean something, don’t you think?”
He could see that she was intrigued, but he’d followed too many false clues over his career to allow such a circumstance to raise his hopes.
Still, it was promising. “Tell me everything.”
Quickly, Lady Katherine outlined what she’d been told by the other woman.
When she got to the threat Jones had made against Mr. Green, he stopped her. “Those were the man’s exact words?”
She nodded. “It’s obvious Green was going to do something that Mr. Jones didn’t agree with.”
“Or Green was making some sort of demand of Jones. Blackmail? Extortion?”
“Whatever it was, it was enough to make the—by all accounts—straightlaced Mr. Jones raise his voice and make a public threat against a local tradesman.” Lady Katherine’s eyes were lit with interest, and Eversham bit back the inclination to warn her against optimism about this development. She may know a great deal about writing for the papers, but reporting about things after the fact often ignored the daily drudgery of following up on details and taking statements from people whose accounts added nothing to the eventual resolution of a case.
Good police work was made up of patience and what was frequently hours of poring over documents, tracking down alibi witnesses, and assembling enough pieces of a mosaic to get a general impression of what happened rather than a full picture.
“You don’t think it’s important?” she asked, obviously sensing the direction of his thoughts.
Eversham found himself wanting to soften the blow, so instead of speaking his thoughts aloud, he said, “It’s important, but far too soon to know if it has any bearing on Jones’s murder. Thank you for telling me, though. I’ll be making a visit to the village tomorrow to get the full story from Green.”
“Excellent.” She looked as if she would say something else, but she must have decided against it.
There was a sudden silence between them, and Eversham cleared his throat. “Thank you for giving me this information, Lady Katherine.”
“We did promise to work together, after all,” she said with a nod.
Eversham got the sense that she was waiting for something. An invitation for her to accompany him tomorrow perhaps? Well, if that was what she wanted, she’d be waiting for a long while. He might have agreed to cooperate with her, but that hadn’t changed his opinion on the advisability of her getting involved in police work. A man had been murdered here. He’d be damned if he let Lady Katherine anywhere near this killer—whether the criminal was the Commandments Killer or just some opportunist looking to cover up his crimes by using the signature of another, more notorious, murderer.
“Would you like to go up first?” he asked after the silence had lasted long enough to make even him uncomfortable.
She sighed, as if she’d heard his mental rationale for keeping her at arm’s length. “There’s no need for subterfuge. This is hardly the sort of house party with the kind of goings-on that inspire gossip.”
He felt his cheeks heat. “I didn’t mean…”
The amusement in her voice was evident. “I know you didn’t, Inspector,” she said. “But your gallantry is appreciated. You go on up. I’m going to stay down here for a bit.”
Her eyes, which had been intrigued earlier, were shadowed with fatigue now.
Eversham recalled that it had been less than twenty-four hours since she’d come upon the dead body of a man with whom she’d been acquainted.
He’d often felt that one of the aspects of his job at which he was the most skilled was his ability to put people at ease during what was often the most traumatic experience of their lives. But with Lady Katherine he’d been too distracted by the knowledge of her writings about him to see her for what she was—the witness to a horrific scene of the worst kind of violence a person could visit upon another human being.
“All right?” he asked, gentling his voice in a way he’d not bothered to do with her earlier.
