No Stone Unturned, page 20
part #1 of Lucy Lawrence Series
“She will be worried about any hint of scandal,” Lucy said. “Though Richard’s actions have made it inevitable. The newspapers will eat us up.”
“Most assuredly. However, it may come down to her word against your brother’s, in which case the prosecution may take her standing and age into account. But I can make you no promises.”
“I understand. I would not ask you to intervene. You already have done so much for me.”
“I only have a little influence. The insurance company will take my advice, but will come to their own decision.”
“Of course,” Lucy said.
“And what about you,” he asked. “What will you do now?”
“I can no longer stay at the hotel, and it was only ever a temporary solution. We could just about afford it by combining our means. And now with my mother gone … hopefully … well, it doesn’t make financial sense. As it happens, the solicitor has informed me he has received an offer for Abbey Gardens. It is my intention to go there tomorrow to retrieve the last of my belongings.”
“I’m sorry. It will be hard for you to give up your home,” he said.
“Actually, no, I don’t think it will. It represents my old life and a myriad of bad memories. I must look to the future now. Last week while Mother was out visiting one of her cronies, Mary and I investigated a nice little property in Hampstead. The rent is reasonable and the area is attractive. It will do nicely.”
“You intend to stay in London,” Stone said, sounding pleased.
“Where else would I go? No, London has been my home for the last decade. I have friends and a life here, or at least, the threads of a life.”
“What about Yorkshire?”
“Somerville is gone. There is nothing to draw me up north now,” Lucy said with great firmness. “The most important thing is that you find those sapphires and the delightful Mr Marsh loses interest in me.”
Stone scowled. “I’m afraid I’ve made little progress. Despite my extensive enquiries, there is no trace of your husband from leaving Mrs Bannon to ending up in Dufour Place in Mr Hendrick’s loving care. I have to say, this is the most frustrating case I’ve ever taken on. Someone must know where he travelled to, but how I am to pick up his trail at this late stage eludes me.”
Lucy shared his frustration. “Near impossible, I’d say.”
“Marsh has covered his tracks well, and not one informant is willing to talk. As usual, he has put the fear of God into his people. But the fact he is still looking for the gems suggests he doesn’t know where your husband went either.”
“If Charlie left London over those few crucial days, there is little hope of finding where he stayed. I would imagine too much time has passed for anyone to remember him,” Lucy said. “But it doesn’t make sense to me.”
“What do you mean?” Stone asked.
“Well, Charlie hardly hid the sapphires in some random place in the middle of nowhere. I reckon he gave them to someone for safekeeping.”
“I’m not so sure. They are worth a fortune. You would have to trust a person a great deal to hand them over and your husband doesn’t appear to have had many close friends.”
“Except his mistress! Or me,” Lucy breathed.
Stone shook his head. “I cannot see you in such a role, Mrs Lawrence, now I know you better. Your financial situation is desperate. If you were his accomplice, you would have bolted before now and tried to sell the sapphires.”
Lucy swallowed hard, relief he believed her innocent flooding through her. But to her consternation, the urge to weep overtook her. She turned away in distress.
Seconds later, he had moved beside her. “Please don’t,” he said, taking one of her hands in his. She shook her head and tried to laugh, but it seemed once the floodgates had opened months’ worth of distress was finally being released. He pulled her into his arms, and she rested her head on his shoulder, wretched to her core.
“You have had a long and emotional day. I suggest a night cap, then I will accompany you back to Brook Street.”
“How will I ever repay you for your kindness?” Lucy asked, drying her tears with the handkerchief he offered.
Stone didn’t answer but the longing in his eyes triggered something deep inside her and long buried. Gently, he cupped her cheek, his thumb sweeping lightly across her face until he touched the corner of her mouth. She sucked in a shaky breath, transfixed by him. But when he caressed the nape of her neck, she closed her eyes, breathing in the citrus and spice scent she associated with him.
He pulled her closer, resting his forehead against hers. “Lucy?” His voice was husky, the question one she did not have the strength to answer. When she felt the feather-light pressure of his lips against hers, her own desire flared. She clutched his upper arm, feeling the muscles tighten beneath her fingers in response. His kisses became more urgent, demanding. How had she ever considered him a cold man, was her last coherent thought.
When they finally pulled apart, he said in an unsteady voice: “I’d better take you home.”
CHAPTER 27
Abbey Gardens
It was mid-morning the next day when Lucy and Mary entered the house at Abbey Gardens. Lucy had almost put off the visit. The drama of the previous day had left her drained and depressed. She had always known how ruthless her mother was, but not the level of cruelty she was capable of. At least Phineas understood. It was akin to grief. Thankfully, he had made no ridiculous declarations, but had given her comfort in just the right way. The promise of a relationship was tantalising but until her own circumstances were straightened out, she would not let any man have control over her life. Although she trusted him, she was still too raw to take a risk. Besides, it was impossible until such time as her period of mourning was over.
Before the future was faced, however, the past had to be dealt with. Her mother’s revelations the previous day had hurt her deeply, and she had lain awake for several hours after Phineas had left her back to the hotel. She had relived the awful confrontation, wishing her own responses had been less emotional and more pragmatic. There had been some difficult times over the years when she had wished for reconciliation with her family. She had even discussed it with Charlie. But he had always dissuaded her. He had seen what she had not. It was at least one thing she was grateful to Charlie for.
From Mary, she knew her mother had retreated to her sister Beatrice in Wimbledon. It was unlikely they would meet again in the near future, even by accident, as Aunt Bea moved in different circles to Lucy. Of course, she knew well the tale of woe Mother would pour into Aunt Bea’s receptive ears. It hardly mattered. Her hurt was slowly turning to anger and a strong desire to act. For too long she had been the understudy in other people’s dramas.
The house already had an abandoned air. Unheated for weeks, there was a damp smell emanating from some rooms and it was deadly cold. But it helped. She needed to detach herself from everything the place represented. She looked at Mary, guessing the maid was equally anxious to get on with the job and return to the comfort of the hotel.
“Look, ma’am, there is some post for you,” Mary said, picking up the letters from the hall floor and handing them over.
Lucy flicked through them. “I’d better go through these. Can you make a start on your own?”
“Of course, ma’am.”
“The reception rooms are almost empty. Most of what is left is upstairs, if I remember correctly,” Lucy said.
Mary gave a nod of understanding before grabbing one of the suitcases they had brought with them. Lucy watched as the maid disappeared around the return before she made her way to Charlie’s study. As she drew back the heavy velvet curtains, particles of dust rose up and pirouetted in a ray of weak sunshine. How melancholy they were, she thought as she stretched out her hand, splaying her fingers to catch the beam of light, desperate to feel some heat on her skin. But there was no comfort in it.
Sitting down, she placed the letters on the blotter and rested her hands on top. Her lethargy would have to be overcome; she must deal with this correspondence and then help Mary. Activity would help ease the hurt and the pain. Even so, her mind returned to the events of the day before.
After a few minutes of brooding her thoughts took a happier turn. Phineas. It had all happened so quickly, but she couldn’t and wouldn’t regret it. She had as much right to happiness as Charlie ever had. Strange, she hadn’t realised how much she had missed the intimacy of a relationship. The early years of her marriage had been a blur of happiness, but slowly she had sensed Charlie’s attention wane and Phineas had found the proof. But her mother had hinted at several liaisons. Where they also women she knew? It was humiliating. But it was just as well she had been unaware: the sympathy in people’s gaze would have crushed her as much as Charlie’s betrayal. She, however, had remained faithful—a fact she was proud of, but now she realised the years of Charlie’s neglect had almost left her a hollow shell.
Lucy looked down at the post and tried to concentrate. Of all the letters, only three were of interest. One was postmarked York, one Harrogate and the other appeared to be from London. She opened the London letter first and scanned down the page. One of Charlie’s creditors. Without hesitation, she redirected it to Mr Faulkner. Then she paused. The York letter was addressed to Charlie, which was strange. As far as she was aware he hadn’t known anyone from there. She turned the envelope over again and again in her hands and a prickle of excitement shot through her. Had Charlie been to York? There was a hotel crest on the envelope. She tore it open.
Dear Mr Lawrence,
We refer to your visit to our hotel some months ago and thank you for the prompt settlement of your account. However, it has come to our attention that the article you left in our care is still in the hotel safe. We are, of course, delighted to be of continued service, but respectfully direct you to our terms. For the continued use of this service, we will require a further payment. We await your further instructions.
We hope this letter receives your earliest attention,
M Haywood,
Manager
This was extraordinary. This had to relate to those missing days. But why did Charlie go to York and what did he leave in that safe? Lucy dared not hope it was the missing sapphires. Surely, it could not turn out to be so simple? Drumming her fingers on the desk, she tried to calm down. She needed to think this through. Obviously, the police and Phineas would be very interested in this letter. Only, it might be nothing. What if she went to York to investigate? Whatever she found she could then share with them on her return. But a little voice in her head asked how realistic that was. If it was the sapphires in that safe, she would have a fortune at her fingertips. All her difficulties would be solved for she knew the reward was substantial. Lucy breathed out slowly in an attempt to reduce her rapid heart rate. Did she really trust Phineas, even now? Misplaced trust had resulted in her current predicament. But if she didn’t tell him about it, she might lose him. Closing her eyes in exasperation, she thought about the evening before and how secure she had felt in his arms. Bother! She had to tell him.
Lucy pulled herself back to the present. The other letter was addressed in a female hand and was dated the previous week. It was a reply from Judith at Blackheath Manor. It was a sweet letter, telling her not to worry about Uncle Giles. He and her father were enjoying each other’s company and, in fact, her father was now far more manageable and less demanding. The letter ended with Judith wondering if Lucy would care to pay them a visit. How opportune! A visit to Blackheath Manor would be the perfect excuse to leave London for Yorkshire without raising suspicion. Rooting around in a drawer, Lucy found some notepaper and immediately scribbled off an acceptance. Fortune at last was smiling on her. But there was still the knotty problem of Mr Marsh. Would he have her followed to Yorkshire? It seemed likely. She would have to consult with Phin on the best way to elude his men.
The door opened, and Mary popped her head in. “Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I wondered what you wished to do about the master’s clothes. I found some in the back bedroom.”
Lucy pushed the letters into her bag and stood up. “Did Mrs Trevor not deal with all of that?”
“Not all, ma’am.”
It was only when she saw the brown paper parcel upon the bed, that Lucy realised what Mary was referring to. It was the parcel of Charlie’s clothes from the mortuary. She recalled the night she returned from Yorkshire, finding the parcel and its contents scattered on the floor. Mary’s apprehension was plain to see: she did not wish to open the parcel or touch the stained contents.
“Be a dear, and check the kitchen for anything useful we can take with us,” Lucy asked. She was reluctant to open it, too, but it was the least she could do since Mary had heroically endured the previous afternoon with her mother.
“Yes, ma’am, of course.” Mary almost ran out the door.
As Lucy unfolded the layers of paper, a faint metallic odour wafted up towards her from Charlie’s blood-stained clothes. She recoiled for a moment as her last image of Charlie, of him lying in the mortuary, twisted and bloodied, came to mind. The clothes were stained brown now, not red as they had been on that awful day, but it was still a shock and a reminder she didn’t want.
Wrinkling up her nose, she began to remove the items one by one. His linen shirt was on top, next his trousers, his jacket and at the bottom, his heavy wool greatcoat. His undergarments were missing, but she assumed those had been destroyed by the mortuary. She laid each piece out on the mattress. It seemed a shame to dispose of them. All were of the highest quality, something Charlie never stinted on, as Mr Faulkner had pointed out with asperity. Someone would be happy enough to receive them. Would a good soak get rid of the stains? It wasn’t a subject she knew anything about. Mary might, however. It would be best to parcel them up again and decide what to do at a more convenient time.
Trying to avoid touching the blood stains, she carefully shook out each item before folding. But as she folded the trousers, something fluttered to the floor. It was a small piece of card. She bent down and picked it up. It had been soaked in Charlie’s blood and was now brown and stiff. How had the police not found it? Then she realised that if it had been wet, it had probably stuck to the inside of the blood-drenched pocket. Wasn’t blood sticky? Or perhaps the policeman involved hadn’t wanted to reach inside, and she could hardly blame him. Recognising what it was, she stared down into her palm, her mind racing with possibilities. It was a punched train ticket. It was dated October, and it was a return to York.
Later, at the hotel, Lucy sat on the edge of her bed in the semi-darkness, the letter from York and the train ticket before her on her bedside table. What should she do? Someone would have to go to York to investigate, but once she told Phineas about this, she would lose all control. That still didn’t sit easily with her. Here was a chance for her to shape her own destiny. But would Phineas forgive her if she kept him in the dark? Whatever the outcome, he would find out eventually she had deceived him. He didn’t deserve it, for he had treated her fairly since the beginning. After all, she might be languishing in a mental asylum but for him, if her mother was to be believed.
These thoughts swirled in her head until she could have screamed in frustration but she could not justify deceiving Phineas or even the chief inspector. On entering the hotel earlier, a police constable had saluted her as he walked past. A pang of guilt hit her. McQuillan was making sure she was protected, even still. With a groan, she realised what she had to do.
Out in the sitting room she found Mary sitting by the window, sewing.
“Order me a cab, Mary, please,” she said from the doorway as she drew on her gloves.
Mary laid down her sewing and rose to her feet. “Certainly, ma’am. Where to?”
“Westbourne Grove, Kensington. I need to consult Mr Stone urgently.”
Mary’s lips twitched with a smile. “As you wish, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 28
By the time her cab turned into Westbourne Grove, it was seven o’clock and darkness had fallen. Lucy was already regretting her impulse. To arrive unannounced was the height of bad manners. What if he had guests, a client, or he was out? Why hadn’t she considered those possibilities and sent a note instead, inviting him to visit her the following morning? She was being impetuous, but a tingle of anticipation brought a smile to her lips. Lucy was sure he would not mind another opportunity to advance their blossoming relationship. Besides, she knew the ticket and letter in her bag were of vital importance and their significance beyond doubt.
The cabbie opened the hatch. “What number?”
Glancing out, she realised they had passed Phineas’s rooms. “Here is fine, thank you.” Hopping down, she handed up the fare.
“Want me to wait?” he asked, with a quirk of one shaggy brow. “It’s a bit dark to be out and about on your own.”
“No, thank you. I’m visiting a friend.”
“Evenin’ so,” the cabbie said.
Phineas’s building was on the other side of the road. Gazing up, Lucy counted the storeys until she reached his floor and was relieved to see the lights were on in his rooms. Just as she was about to cross over, a man brushed past her. Lucy snapped to attention with a gasp. She recognised him. With a pounding heart, she watched his progress along the pavement. He stopped suddenly and seemed to be getting his bearings. When there was a break in the traffic, he strode across and, to Lucy’s mounting horror, entered Phineas’s building.
A rush of adrenalin coursed through her. She plunged after him, dodging a carriage by inches. She had to warn Phineas. The man must mean him harm. Heedless of the stares of passers-by, she raced along the pavement, barely drawing breath as she swung into the doorway of the building. Thankful there was no porter present to delay her, she dashed up the stairs as fast as her skirts would allow. As she reached the top of the flight of stairs leading to Phineas’s landing, she paused, breathing hard. Slowly, she drew the pistol out from her bag. Her hand was shaking. As she was about to step out into the open, she heard a knock, then a door opening, followed by George’s voice.
