‘I’m not in any trouble, am I, Detective?’ Bentley stammered.
‘Not that I know of – yet.’ Lavender pointed to a rickety wooden chair and waited while Bentley sat down. Despite his youth, the clerk was smartly and fashionably dressed, with a pristine, creaseless cravat below his strong jawline and a well-cut dark blue coat over his athletic frame. Lavender cleared his throat. ‘As you know, we’re investigating the murder of David MacAdam and we need to know your movements on the night of his death.’
Relief flooded across Bentley’s face. ‘Oh, that’s . . . easy. Yes, poor Davy. It’s quite a shock.’
‘Where were you the night he died?’
‘I was out earlier in the evening but came home around seven o’clock. I read for a bit in my room before I went to sleep.’
‘Did you hear MacAdam come home just after nine o’clock?’
‘No, I was already asleep by then. I heard nothing.’
‘Not even when Mrs Palmer wished MacAdam goodnight?’
‘No.’
‘MacAdam’s bedchamber is on the floor above yours. He would have passed by your door on his way up there.’
Bentley shook his head. ‘I heard nothing,’ he insisted.
‘How close were you to your fellow lodgers?’ Lavender asked. ‘How much time did you spend with them?’
‘I knew them a bit. I’ve only lodged with Mrs Palmer for a few months, since I started working here.’
‘Did you ever go out drinking with Collins and MacAdam? Did you visit taverns with them?’
‘Yes, sometimes.’ Bentley fingered the buttons on his waistcoat nervously. ‘They were good company and we enjoyed a glass or two of brandy together.’
‘Where is Frank Collins?’
‘He’s away in Yorkshire on business.’
‘No, he’s not. He’s disappeared. I ask you again: where is Frank Collins?’
Bentley looked confused. ‘I don’t know, Detective. I haven’t seen or heard from him in months.’
‘Did you know MacAdam was courting a young woman called Amelia Howard?’
‘Was he? No, I didn’t know about that.’
‘That surprises me,’ Lavender said, ‘because Mrs Palmer claims she once overhead MacAdam boasting to you and Frank Collins that he’d caught himself a young heiress.’
Bentley flushed. ‘Well . . . yes . . . he might have mentioned something once. I, I don’t remember. MacAdam was full of plans and schemes to get rich. I didn’t pay much attention to him, to be honest.’
‘Did you know MacAdam was already married?’
‘Was he? No, I didn’t know that.’ He was sweating. Lavender could smell it.
‘And did you know he planned to fake his own death in order to get out of his marriage and wed his heiress?’
Confusion flashed across Bentley’s face and his mouth flapped open and shut like a dying fish on a slab in the Billingsgate market. ‘He did what? Good grief! That’s scandalous! I knew nothing about this. I can’t . . . I can’t believe he did something so evil.’
‘I didn’t say MacAdam did the deed. I simply said he planned to do it.’
‘You’re confusing me,’ Bentley wailed plaintively. ‘Even to think such a thing is foul – never mind actually carrying out such an evil plan.’
Lavender regarded him coldly. Everything about the young man’s demeanour, his evasive eyes and nervous swallowing, told Lavender he was lying. ‘Why don’t I believe you, Mr Bentley? Don’t lie. You knew about his plan to fake his own death and commit bigamy – and you knew Frank Collins helped him.’
Bentley’s voice became shrill. ‘I didn’t. I swear I didn’t!’
Lavender paused and wondered idly whether to haul the young fool down to Bow Street and let him languish and sweat in the cells for a few hours. A spell under the hatches often loosened tongues. Failing that, he could try fishing for information.
‘Someone took a coffin back to Essex. Perhaps it wasn’t Collins. Perhaps it was you?’
‘No! I swear I had nothing to do with this.’
‘It would be easy enough to check with your employer whether or not you were here in London at work on that day.’
‘Please – no!’ Bentley lowered his voice and looked beseechingly at Lavender through his big blue eyes. ‘Please don’t ask him any questions – I’m already in trouble. He says I’m absent too often from my desk. I’ll lose my position.’
‘Why weren’t you at work yesterday? We saw you at Mrs Palmer’s.’
‘I’d taken the day off again,’ Bentley said. ‘I was upset by Davy’s death – and I had some family business to attend to.’
‘Family business? With Lady Louisa Fitzgerald in Berkeley Square?’
Again, Bentley’s mouth flapped like a fish. ‘Lady Louisa Fitzgerald?’
‘Yes, I saw you climb into her coach outside Mrs Palmer’s house.’
Bentley glanced nervously at the closed door. His forehead glistened with a thin sheen of sweat. ‘Please don’t mention it to my employer, or I’ll lose my position here.’
‘Why?’
‘I’d told them I needed time off work to attend my grandfather’s funeral.’
‘Where did you really go?’
Bentley swallowed hard again and said, ‘I went out to a racecourse in Surrey with my friend, Matthew Fitzgerald. He’s Lady Louisa’s son.’ Lavender doubted that but Bentley’s story was easy enough to verify. The young man looked wretched and bowed his head, hiding his eyes. His long, dark eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks. Most women would pay a fortune for eyelashes like those, Lavender thought.
‘This is a murder investigation,’ Lavender said, ‘and I have more important things to deal with than protecting a young man who lies to his employer – and lies to police officers. We need to find this murderer and bring him to justice on the gallows.’ He paused for a moment before adding slowly: ‘Because we will find MacAdam’s murderer – and he will hang.’
Bentley gave what sounded like a gulping sob.
Lavender nodded towards the door. ‘You can return to work but don’t leave town, Mr Bentley. I’m sure I’ll want to talk to you again.’
Chapter Sixteen
Mr Howard’s turbaned footman showed Lavender into the large drawing room of the house on Bruton Street. The stucco carvings on the heavily decorated white plaster ceiling were so elaborate that Lavender felt the weight of them bearing down on him. Sumptuous purple silk wall hangings lined the walls. Bordered with emerald green and blue birds of paradise and brilliant orange chrysanthemums, they were embroidered in silver and depicted scenes of scarlet-robed maharajas in battle, maharajas holding court beneath glittering awnings and maharajas riding on bejewelled elephants. Exquisite ornaments of jade and ivory stood on the mantelpiece and side tables.
Howard himself sat in front of the fire, on a traditional wing-backed chair. He’d discarded his flowing banyan today and wore a plain black coat with matching pantaloons. He looked worried and older. Opposite him, a raven-haired young woman in a red gown with a high empire waist was draped elegantly over the sofa. She had the same caramel-toned skin as the young woman Lavender saw the previous day in the phaeton, but she had bulging brown eyes beneath heavy black brows and a sour expression on her face.
‘Ah, Detective Lavender,’ Howard said. ‘May I introduce my younger granddaughter, Miss Matilda Howard?’
A small hand jerked out imperiously towards him. ‘Detective Lavender.’
He shook her hand and bowed politely. He estimated her age at sixteen or seventeen but she was small in stature and could have been younger. She’d drawn her tongue back in her mouth when pronouncing the two ‘t’s in ‘Detective’ and they’d erupted with a curious popping sound, giving her strong accent a sing-song quality. He remembered Mr Jackson’s comment about the poor education received by the Howard girls and he wondered how much time they’d spent with English speakers during their youth and how much of it they had been banished to the company of Indian ser
vants and ayahs.
‘This is a bad business, Lavender, a bad business,’ Howard continued. ‘Poor Amelia has been devastated to hear about the death of her fiancé. The girl is inconsolable and refuses to leave her room.’
Lavender nodded sympathetically. ‘So she hasn’t left the house today?’ He still half-wondered if Miss Howard had been one of the two mysterious women who’d visited the Bow Street morgue.
Howard shook his head.
Miss Matilda smoothed down the silk of her skirts and her lips curled into a smug smile. ‘My sister has stayed at home and I’ve used the phaeton and been to the Row. Her catastrophe is my blessing.’
‘I’m sorry to hear Miss Howard is so distressed,’ Lavender said sharply.
‘The silly mare has swollen red eyes with crying,’ the young woman continued. ‘Her looks are very, very spoilt now; she will not leave the house or find another beau like this.’ Her thick accent didn’t mask the irritation and coldness in her tone. There was clearly no love lost between the two girls.
‘That’s hardly surprising, Matilda, my dear,’ her grandfather admonished patiently. ‘To find out MacAdam is dead is shock enough but to then learn he was murdered is another dreadful blow on top of the first one.’
The girl shrugged her thin shoulders. ‘Let her wallow in the self-pity. At least I can drive the phaeton now her beau is dead.’
Lavender bit back his disgust at her callousness. ‘I’d hoped to speak to Miss Howard today about MacAdam – and some other issues that have come to light.’
‘Oh, what other issues?’ Miss Matilda turned her head like a curious cat and gave him a half-smile.
Lavender cleared his throat, unsure how much of MacAdam’s sordid behaviour he should reveal in front of the young woman. ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you, sir, but David MacAdam wasn’t the man he claimed to be.’
‘How so?’ Howard asked.
‘He wasn’t the second son of Baron MacAdam from Colchester. He was a commercial traveller with Drake’s tailoring company from Chelmsford.’
‘What!’ Howard’s jaw dropped open.
‘Or, to be more accurate, he was a commercial traveller until May,’ Lavender continued, ‘when he appears to have given up his paid employment altogether. Isn’t that the month he met Miss Howard?’ The question was rhetorical; he already knew the answer but he left it hanging there. Howard was an intelligent man. He’d work out the significance.
‘What is this commercial traveller?’ Matilda Howard asked. ‘It’s a common pedlar, yes?’ Lavender nodded and she burst out laughing. ‘Poor Amelia – she has been duped by a dirty pedlar! Yes?’
Lavender and Howard ignored her obvious glee.
‘I don’t understand.’ Howard’s tone was incredulous. ‘The man kept a carriage and horses and gave Amelia a beautiful ruby ring as a token of his love only a few days ago. It must be a question of mistaken identity, surely?’
‘I’m afraid there is no mistake,’ Lavender said. He hoped Howard wouldn’t ask him how he was so sure MacAdam was a Chelmsford salesman. He needed Miss Matilda out of the room so he could talk privately with Howard. ‘This commercial traveller from Chelmsford and David MacAdam are the same man.’
Matilda waved her hand dismissively in the air and laughed again. ‘That ring was nothing – a mere trinket.’
‘No, Matilda,’ her grandfather said sternly, ‘I examined the ring myself and it’s an exquisite piece with real rubies and turquoise.’
‘I haven’t solved the mystery of the carriage and horses yet,’ Lavender said, ‘but we know MacAdam borrowed heavily to pay for the ring.’
‘He did what?’
‘He borrowed a hundred guineas from a moneylender in the Seven Dials to pay for it.’
‘The Seven Dials?’ Howard looked horrified.
His granddaughter let out a peal of spiteful laughter. ‘I knew he was only after her money! But she thought it was true love – that he wanted her for her true self!’
He remembered the line in Amelia Howard’s letter to MacAdam about her sister’s jealousy. At the time, he’d dismissed this phrase as normal sibling rivalry but there was nothing natural about the perverse delight Matilda was taking in her sister’s misfortune.
‘I need to speak to Miss Howard,’ he said urgently. ‘Can we ask her to join us? And I would appreciate a moment or two in private with you, sir.’
‘Matilda.’ Howard’s voice caught in his throat. ‘Please go to your sister’s chamber and fetch her downstairs.’
Petulant anger flashed across the young woman’s face at the dismissal. Then she shrugged, rose to her feet and walked to the door. ‘I shall take the pleasure to give her the news about her lying, cheating beau,’ she said.
‘You’ll do no such thing!’ Howard called after her, alarmed. ‘Simply ask her to join us. I’ll inform Amelia of Detective Lavender’s latest discoveries.’
The girl didn’t respond and slammed the door shut behind her.
‘I apologise for Matilda’s behaviour, Lavender,’ Howard sighed wearily. ‘Matilda has been difficult since Amelia met MacAdam. I think she’s jealous. She’s the cleverer of the two girls and a competent horsewoman but she has never been blessed with Amelia’s good looks or pleasant nature.’
‘I’m afraid there is worse news to come about MacAdam,’ Lavender said quickly. ‘He was already married. He had a wife and family in Chelmsford. His wife has been down to Bow Street this afternoon to identify his corpse. That’s why I’m so sure of my facts.’
Howard said nothing but the twitching muscles in his neck and his reddening facial colour suggested a volcano of fury was building at the other side of the room.
‘On top of this,’ Lavender continued, ‘in June, MacAdam faked his own death. He arranged for a friend to take a coffin back to his wife in Chelmsford and claim it contained his dead body. The fraud only came to light yesterday when I visited Mrs MacAdam.’
‘Damn the fellow to hell!’ Howard clenched his arthritic fists, rose to his feet, marched to the marble fireplace and leaned on the mantelpiece, breathing heavily. After a moment, he glanced up at Lavender’s reflection in the mirror. ‘Tell me everything,’ he growled.
Howard listened silently while Lavender talked but shock and anger flashed across his features in his reflection in the mirror. ‘We’ve asked the bishop for an exhumation of the coffin in MacAdam’s grave,’ Lavender concluded. ‘We’re fearful it will lead to a second murder inquiry; there’s probably another body in the coffin – placed there by MacAdam. I fear we’ve barely scratched the surface about the true extent of MacAdam’s treachery.’
Howard stared back at him blankly. His tone was bitter when he eventually spoke. ‘Was all this just to get his hands on my granddaughter’s fortune?’
Lavender nodded. ‘I believe so. You must prepare yourself for more grisly revelations. He may have been a murderer as well as a lying, cheating lothario.’
‘So who murdered MacAdam? Was it his much-maligned wife?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know yet,’ Lavender confessed. ‘Mrs MacAdam’s reaction suggested she was innocent of the vile deception practised upon her.’
‘It’s a good job he’s dead,’ Howard snarled. ‘Or I would have murdered the lying bastard myself!’ His clenched fist crashed down on the mantelpiece, nearly knocking off an exquisitely carved ivory elephant. ‘I can’t believe how easily he fooled us. What an idiot I was not to make more enquiries about the man.’
Lavender was about to reply when he heard a faint scratching at the door, which he thought was followed by a stifled laugh. Frowning, he moved quickly towards it and swung it open. Miss Matilda virtually fell into the room. She pulled herself upright, smiled and smoothed down her gown. Shameless about her eavesdropping, she announced loudly: ‘Amelia is crying again. She says she’s very, very upset and can’t come downstairs.’ She promptly turned on her heel and flounced away with rustle of red silk.
Howard’s face crumpled at the new
s of his elder granddaughter’s distress. He reached for the bell pull at the side of the fireplace. ‘I’m sorry, Detective, but I must go to Amelia. No doubt Matilda has disobeyed my instructions, told Amelia the truth about MacAdam’s lies and turned the knife in her heart. I’m afraid I must ask you to leave.’
Lavender frowned. ‘I really need to speak to Miss Howard. There are many questions only she can answer about MacAdam.’
‘I’m sorry but you’ll have to return tomorrow.’
‘There is one other thing,’ Lavender said hastily. ‘The moneylender who loaned MacAdam the money for the ring he gave Miss Howard is causing trouble. He’s already tried to force his way into MacAdam’s lodgings to retrieve the item, or items commensurate with the value. My constable has warned him off and sent him away with a flea in his ear, but please alert your servants in case the fool tries to approach Miss Howard in the street. He’s called Billy Summersgill.’
Howard moaned. ‘Dear God, is there no end to this nightmare?’
The door opened and the footman arrived to show Lavender out. He bit back his frustration, bowed and left.
Chapter Seventeen
Eggerton’s stonemasons in Spitalfields was a large, dusty yard, appropriately sited on Brick Lane. Woods’ ride through the bustling street market to the yard was both slow and painful. Slow because of the heaving crowds of shoppers and painful because of the delicious aroma of freshly baked pies and roasting chestnuts wafting from the stalls and carts of the street vendors. His treacherous stomach cramped in protest at its emptiness.
Originally home to London’s Huguenot silk weavers and merchants, the area had declined with its industries over the last few decades. The old merchant dwellings had degenerated into slums where several generations of the same family huddled into a single room and the low, dilapidated houses of the surrounding streets cowered together in narrow, dark lanes and alleys, haunted by pickpockets and cut-throats.
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