A Study in Murder

by Callie Hutton

  She raised her chin. “You are correct, Detective. However, my father was quite persuasive when he presented the offer to me. That was one of the reasons I decided to break the engagement. I do not like being coerced into anything.”

  Detective Marsh looked up from his notes. “You said in our first interview that you broke your engagement because the two of you did not suit. Now you said one of the reasons you ended the relationship was because it had been your father’s coercion.” He leaned forward. “What are the other reasons, Lady Amy?”

  “As I noted before, I disapproved of his involvement with opium. Due to that and other reasons, I felt we did not suit, and I prefer to make up my own mind about such an important step as marriage.”

  “A reason to kill him?”

  She narrowed her eyes at the man. “Really, Detective, do you honestly think I would have to kill a man to be rid of him? There are truly more civilized ways of discouraging a suitor. I invited him to my home and told him I was breaking our engagement. He left with the ring he had given me. He returned four nights later, for what reason I have no idea, and ended up dead on my library floor.”

  “And you had nothing to do with it?”

  “I believe I have already stated, more than once, that your assumption is incorrect.” No longer was she frightened by these men. They obviously had nothing to connect her to the murder except for the fact that St. Vincent had died at her house. If they had, she would be in jail right now.

  The men looked at each other, Marsh closed his notebook, and they both stood. “That is all we need for now, Lady Amy.”

  “Detective. Before you leave. Can you tell me if you are close to finding who killed Mr. St. Vincent? I really wish to put this all behind me and resume my normal life.”

  Detective Marsh just stared at her for a few moments. “No. We are not.”

  Once they left the room, Amy wandered around, restless, unable to concentrate. Miss Hemphill had been added to the detectives’ list of interested parties. That was quite intriguing. The police were doing more than she’d thought.

  The next thing she and William needed to do was check further into Miss Hemphill. Find out why she had gone to London. It could have been for a very innocuous reason, but Amy still felt there was more to Miss Hemphill than they’d discovered so far.

  She checked her timepiece. It was time to prepare for the evening. William was escorting her to the theater.

  They were to enjoy William Shakespeare’s Much Ado About Nothing, one of her favorite plays. As she made her way upstairs, she thought again about William. The investigation was throwing them together quite a bit, but they were also attending other events—such as the one that night—that had nothing to do with St. Vincent’s murder.

  She smiled as she dressed. William’s company was quite pleasant, actually. He was polite, charming, and at times he looked at her in such a way that she felt tingles inside. Which sounded quite silly, so she pushed that thought away.

  Taking a final look in the mirror at the light- and dark-blue-striped gown that fit her curves quite well, along with the dark-blue gloves that covered her arms to her elbows, she smiled at her reflection. She had Lacey fasten a sapphire necklace that had belonged to her mother, and then added the earbobs that matched. Pleased with what she saw in the mirror, she picked up the beaded reticule and matching shawl on the chair by the door to her room and descended the stairs to await William.

  She poured herself a small sherry while she waited and flipped through a book on poetry that she’d been meaning to read but had put off with her focus on murder.

  “My lady, Lord Wethington has arrived.” Mr. Stevens, who took over door duty in the evenings, stepped aside to allow William to enter.

  “My lady, you look splendid.” William’s appreciative look traveled from the tip of her head—and the dark-blue feathers anchored there—to her feet, shod in delicate black slippers.

  “Would you care for a drink?”

  “Yes, I would.” He walked to the sideboard and poured himself a brandy. “We have a bit of time before we must leave.”

  “The detectives visited today.” Amy took a sip of her sherry.

  “With good news, I hope? Like perhaps they have found the true killer?”

  Amy shook her head. “No. But they did mention Miss Hemphill. They asked me if I knew she was expecting to marry St. Vincent.”

  “Did they ask about Sir Holstein?”

  “Yes. They said the police did not like private individuals doing their work.”

  William laughed. “Someone has to do it. They don’t seem to be moving forward.”

  Mr. Stevens entered the drawing room once more, his expression reminding her of someone who had just smelled something nasty. “My lady, Mr. Albright requests a word, if you please.”

  Amy and William glanced at each other. “Mr. Albright? How very strange. Yes, send him in, please.”

  They watched the man enter the room, crushing his hat in his hand. “Excuse me for interrupting you, milady, but I thought it best if I passed along some information to you.”

  Amy waved at the red-and-white-striped chair. “Please have a seat, Mr. Albright.”

  “No, milady, my clothes are dusty from the garden.”

  She smiled at him, trying to put him at ease. “What is it you want to tell me, Mr. Albright?”

  He hesitated for a moment, then said, “Last night you had a few people here for some sort of gathering.”

  “Yes. My book club. We usually meet at a bookstore, but they were having an event that evening, so we met here.”

  The man was obviously uncomfortable, either from being in their presence or with what he was about to say.

  “Is there something you wanted to say about my guests, Mr. Albright?”

  “Well, ma’am. I wasn’t spying on you or anything, but when I was closing up the shed for the night, I saw a few people going up the steps. One of them was the bloke what I bought my opium from.”

  CHAPTER 16

  William sat forward in his chair. “Do you know his name?”

  “Nah. He never said.”

  “Did he come alone, or with someone?” Amy asked.

  The man didn’t hesitate. “He arrived in a carriage with an older woman.”

  There were two couples who had arrived together. Lord Temple with his daughter, Lady Abigail, and Mr. Miles and his mother. However, Lord Temple was quite corpulent and had silver hair. Nothing like the man Mr. Albright had described earlier, and Lady Abigail could hardly be referred to as an “older woman.” Amy took in a deep breath and looked over at William. “Mr. Miles?”

  William studied her for a moment, then glanced up at Mr. Albright. “Are you certain, Mr. Albright? This is a very serious matter.”

  “I am absolutely certain. When he stepped out of his carriage, he walked under the streetlamp and even turned in my direction when he helped the old lady out of the carriage. He was the bloke what sold me the opium.”

  Amy lowered her sherry glass to the table. “This is quite a surprise.”

  “Indeed.” William shook his head and downed the rest of his brandy. “Who would have thought that someone in our own circle was doing such a thing.”

  Realizing that Mr. Albright was still standing there, Amy smiled up at him. “Thank you very much for that information, Mr. Albright. It could be very beneficial to our investigation.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am. Anything I can do to help clear your name. I know you would never off a man, and I am grateful for you allowing me my job back.”

  “Thank you again, Mr. Albright.”

  He backed out of the room as if leaving the Queen’s presence.

  “Well, then.” William stood and picked up both of their glasses and returned them to the sideboard. “It is time to leave for the theater.”

  Amy rose and smoothed her skirts. “I am still in a bit of shock.”

  They walked to the front entrance, where Mr. Stevens assisted Amy into her soft
woolen black cape.

  William shrugged into his coat and placed his hat on his head. They left the house, neither of them speaking. However, once the carriage was rolling away from the house, William said, “We now have a name to add to our list of suspects.”

  “Yes, it would seem so. As we discussed before we knew his name, I’m still not sure how his position as the link between the shipping company and the purchaser of the drug would fit with Mr. St. Vincent’s murder.”

  “If it does at all.” William spoke softly, glancing out the window as if in thought.

  “What do you mean? Mr. Albright identified Mr. Miles and was quite certain about it.”

  He turned to look at her in the pale illumination from the lantern on the carriage wall, the dim light casting his features into shadows. “Are you aware of any connection between Mr. St. Vincent and Mr. Miles? Were they friends?”

  “Mr. St. Vincent never mentioned him. He attended one—or perhaps two—book cub meetings with me, but I don’t remember if he and Mr. Miles were especially friendly.”

  William nodded. “Just because Mr. Albright identified Mr. Miles as the man who sold him the opium doesn’t prove a link between the two. There could be other sources of opium—I am sorry to say—from whom Mr. Miles could have obtained the drug.”

  Amy pondered that for a few minutes.

  William blew out a deep breath. “However, if Mr. Miles was getting his drugs from your fiancé—”

  “Ex fiancé.”

  “—many ideas come to mind that we’ve considered before. Perhaps he did not feel his cut of the profits was large enough. Maybe St. Vincent threatened to shut him out altogether for some reason and work with someone else.”

  “But how would killing him help? If St. Vincent was dead, there went the whole scheme, it would seem to me.”

  “Not if Miles thought he could work out a better deal with Mr. Harris.”

  Amy tapped her chin. “The heir.”

  “Correct.”

  She pondered that for a while. The fact that her logical, murder-solving brain had not worked that out convinced her she was much more shocked at the revelation about Mr. Miles than she’d thought.

  Mr. Miles. The man who accompanied his mother everywhere but didn’t appear to like it. “Perhaps the reason he always looks so bored at our meetings is because he is only there to keep his contacts?”

  “Blasted roads. They need to fix these ruts.” William grabbed the strap hanging alongside his head. “If what you say is correct, then one, or more, of our members are addicted to opium.”

  “Who?” Amy grabbed the strap on her side and winced with each bounce the carriage took.

  William looked toward the ceiling, which, Amy had learned from her research, people tended to do when they were thinking. “I can’t imagine anyone in our club being addicted to opium.”

  “One thing is certain. We need to confront Mr. Miles with this information. If it is true, and it sounds like Mr. Albright has no doubt about it, Miles might cast some light on our investigation.”

  William shook his head. “Or he might be the killer, and we could be placing ourselves in danger.”

  “Then perhaps not confront him, come up with another reason to pay him a visit, and then in the course of conversation, slip in a word or two that might make him say something helpful.” At least that was a method she used in her books. Keep the suspect talking until they revealed themselves. The old saying He who speaks first loses.

  As if he’d read her mind, William said, “That might work in your books, but in real life we could be confronting a man who murdered someone in cold blood.”

  Amy perked up. “We shall bring a gun.”

  William groaned.

  * * *

  They decided not to send a note ahead of time but to call with the pretense of visiting with Mrs. Miles. The fact that they’d never done so before was considered and tossed aside. Older ladies always enjoyed company, and Amy doubted Mrs. Miles would question their intent.

  Unfortunately, when they arrived the following Monday, Mrs. Miles was the only one at home. All Amy knew of Mr. Miles, besides that he was a bit grumpy with his mother on occasion, was that his time was occupied with gentlemanly pursuits. In other words, he did not have gainful employment of any sort. Of course, now she realized his income might very well come from the sale of drugs.

  “I am so glad you came to visit.” Mrs. Miles smiled at them while she fussed with her dress, belt, cuffs, collar, and hair. “I sent for tea when Gertrude told me you had arrived.”

  Amy wasn’t sure if the woman was nervous because she was not used to company or for other reasons. Now that they were involved in this investigation, she had begun to suspect everyone’s actions. “Thank you very much. Lord Wethington and I happened to be in the neighborhood, and we thought it would be pleasant to have a visit with you.”

  Mrs. Miles clapped her hands like a young child. “How wonderful. We shall have a lovely chat.”

  A maid entered the room pushing a tea cart. She set everything on the table in front of them.

  “Lady Amy, would you pour, please?” Surprised that Mrs. Miles would not perform the typical hostess task herself, Amy did as the woman requested and poured tea for the three of them. She filled three plates with a selection of small sandwiches and biscuits and passed them around as well.

  Amy patted her mouth with a white napkin embroidered with tiny pink and green flowers. “How are you enjoying our latest book, Mrs. Miles?”

  “It is quite nice. Well, since it’s a murder mystery, I don’t think nice is quite the proper word, but I am enjoying it.” She picked up a small biscuit and held it to her mouth. “I do wish we would read another of E. D. Burton’s books. They are so much more … vivid.” She popped the biscuit into her mouth and smiled.

  William choked on his tea, and Amy hid her giggle. Not just because she was E. D. Burton, but because William had thought the ladies’ sensibilities were too delicate to enjoy her books.

  Apparently not.

  “My dear son, Richard, enjoys Mr. Burton’s books too. He always tells me that Mr. Burton is very adept at solving a murder.” She leaned in close to Amy. “It is too bad you cannot have that author on your side. I know you are distressed at the murder of Mr. St. Vincent. Perhaps if you contacted Mr. Burton’s publisher, he might allow you to speak with him.”

  “While that is a very good idea, Mrs. Miles, I don’t think the author would have time to become involved in our affairs.”

  Mrs. Miles nodded. “You are most likely correct. Although one thinks getting involved in a murder investigation could be quite …” She took a sip of tea and shook her head.

  William shifted in his chair. One that Amy was certain he found uncomfortable. It looked like it could barely hold his weight, and if the cushion was as stiff as the one she was sitting on, there was no comfort to be had. “Mr. Miles is always so quiet when he attends our meetings. I didn’t realize he was also reading the books. I thought he only came as your escort.”

  “Oh, yes. He is very interested in murder. He oftentimes reads about various murders in the newspaper and tells me how he would solve it. Or how he would commit such a crime and get away with it.” She actually looked proud, as though her son had been awarded a certificate in school for good deportment.

  Amy was grateful she was not drinking her tea, or Mrs. Miles would have been covered in it. She refused to look at William because she doubted she could hold in her laugh at what Mrs. Miles had just said. It appeared their visit might be more beneficial with Mr. Miles not present.

  “That is quite interesting, Mrs. Miles. Perhaps Mr. Miles should be writing murder-mystery books himself.”

  The woman waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, dear me, no. He is much too busy to be writing books.”

  William cleared his throat and placed his cup on his saucer. “What is it your son does, Mrs. Miles? Is he employed?”

  She looked confused for a minute. “Oh, dear
. I’m sure he must be. He is busy all the time, away from the house, but he pays all the bills and gives me money, so I imagine he is employed somewhere.”

  They continued to visit for another twenty minutes, most of which was spent listening to Mrs. Miles speak of her various illnesses. Nothing further was said about Mr. Miles, so when their hostess took a much needed breath, Amy looked over at William and gave him a slight nod.

  William pulled his timepiece from his vest pocket. “I’m afraid we have taken up too much of your time, Mrs. Miles.”

  “Oh, no. Not at all. Please don’t feel as though you have to go.”

  Amy stood and smoothed out her skirts. “Actually, I have another appointment myself, so I am afraid we must.”

  “Well, please do come again. This was such fun!” Mrs. Miles stood and walked with them to the door, where William and Amy accepted their outer garments from the man stationed there.

  “It has been a pleasure, Mrs. Miles.” William bowed over her hand. “We look forward to seeing you at the meeting Thursday evening.”

  Mrs. Miles twittered. Actually twittered.

  They took their leave and climbed into the waiting carriage.

  * * *

  Amy sat at her desk, her chin resting on her hand while she stared out the window. The visit with Mrs. Miles the day before had been quite enlightening. On the way home, she and William had discussed all they’d learned.

  He planned to visit a couple of the men’s clubs, since it was certain Mr. Miles would belong to one or two of them. Anyone selling opium to those who could afford it had to be in places where he would find wealthy customers.

  That left Amy with nothing to do while William did his part. That was annoying. What was truly vexing was that men had clubs where they could gather but women were not allowed. Women should start their own club and not allow men to visit. Except, she realized with a sinking feeling in her stomach, most likely men would not want to enter a women’s club anyway.