A Study in Murder

by Callie Hutton

  William choked on the tea he had just taken a sip of.

  Some time after Amy served the tea, both detectives stood. They had also asked about Mr. Colbert, Lord Temple, and his daughter Lady Abigail. Each answer had been the same. Barely acquainted with Mr. St. Vincent.

  “That is all for now. I understand the bloke your father hired to do his own investigation is under the weather.”

  Amy patted her lips with the napkin. “Yes, Sir Holstein apparently ingested some bad food. He is no longer working for my father.”

  Carson nodded. “Good.” He studied her and William with a piercing stare. “We don’t need anyone except the police investigating a murder.”

  With a nod, they left the room, and Amy let out her breath. “I really do not like those men.”

  William looked down at the paper he still clutched in his hand. “Now I can tell you what I tried to say before the detectives arrived.”

  “What is that?”

  “My driver asked the coach-maker when he arrived at our mews to inspect the carriage.” William opened the paper and stared down at it, then looked up at Amy.

  “The spokes on the right rear wheel had been deliberately cut.”

  CHAPTER 22

  “Deliberately cut?” Amy’s jaw dropped as she stared at William and repeated his words. The wheel on the carriage they had been riding in had been damaged on purpose. In other words, someone had wanted her and William either seriously injured or dead.

  Dead.

  No more investigation if we are dead.

  “I believe we are making the true murderer very nervous.” William shifted in his seat and winced. He obviously had hidden injuries on his body similar to her black-and-blue marks.

  Slowly she recovered from the shock of his words. “So am I to assume you no longer believe that Miss Hemphill killed Mr. St. Vincent?” She certainly had not been convinced, but William and Aunt Margaret had wanted to believe. Or at least had wanted her to believe that was the case.

  William adjusted again, apparently unable to get into a comfortable position. The poor man must have been hurting. “It appears not. Unless she arranged before her death to have someone cut the wheels on my carriage. That, however, is a bit of a stretch.”

  Amy thought for a minute. “Do you think we should have shared that information with the police? They might stop looking so hard at me if they knew that.”

  “Frankly, I wanted to speak with you about it first, since we have so little faith in their investigation. I could always make a visit to the police building.”

  Amy took a sip of tea as she reviewed all the facts and information they had gathered thus far. “Perhaps we should hold off for a bit. They are now looking beyond me, it seems, with all the questions about Mr. St. Vincent’s friends and acquaintances. It gives us a bit of an edge in finding the murderer.”

  “Or the murderer finding us, as it appears from the cut wheel.”

  “That is true.” She placed her teacup in the saucer and wiped her mouth on her napkin. “However, if our serious injury or death was the plan for the cut wheel, and the police are also investigating Mr. St. Vincent’s murder, is the killer going to attempt to do away with the entire police department?”

  The concern in his eyes warmed her. “It appears whoever murdered Mr. St. Vincent feels we are closer to him than the police are. Since our favorite detectives had been focused on only you until now, the culprit could very well be correct in his assumption. If he noticed, as we did, that the police stubbornly continued in the same direction while we have broadened our search, then it follows that we would find Mr. St. Vincent’s killer first.”

  Amy raised her finger. “But not if we are dead.”

  “Correct.”

  She shivered. “If the killer is right and we have a better chance of exposing him than the police, then one of the people we have been considering is our man.”

  William’s hand stopped as it was bringing his teacup to his lips, and he regarded her over the cup. “Just so.”

  They finished their tea and the small sandwiches and biscuits Cook had sent in, both of them consumed with their own thoughts. Amy wiped her mouth and placed the napkin alongside her plate. “It might be a good idea to go over a few things while we are together. I find that since the accident I feel quite weary and ready for a nap after being awake for only a few hours.

  “With the detectives questioning me about some of our friends, it brought to mind the argument we witnessed between Mr. Miles and Lady Carlisle last Saturday while leaving the Assembly Rooms.” It had meant very little to her that night, but now, in light of the “accident” not really being an accident and the police finally spreading their net wider, as it were, perhaps it did mean something. After all, Mr. Miles was involved in nefarious behavior of which the police seemed to be aware.

  William studied his shoes, his lips pursed and brows furrowed. “I can’t imagine what those two would have to argue about. But then, it could have been anything at all. Perhaps they’d danced and he stepped on her toes.” He smiled, and she chuckled.

  “A good theory, my lord, but I’ve never seen Mr. Miles dance at any of those events. I’m sure he only comes to escort his mother, who seems to thoroughly enjoy the evenings out.”

  “Or, since he’s in the illegal drug market, it is a way to innocuously maintain contact with those to whom he sells.”

  Amy straightened in her seat. “Do you think he is selling to people we know? Those who attend our book club meetings, sewing circles, and Assembly Room dances? I always assumed his customers were from the lower end of Bath.”

  William smiled at her as if she were a mere child needing a lesson on deportment. “Amy, surely you know that the use of opium is not restricted to the unfortunate members of society? It is well known to be a plague among all ranks of citizens.”

  “No, I did not know that. But then, I am busy killing people—in books, that is—and never reflected on the current problem with drug use. This is very interesting. Perhaps I need to add that to a plot in one of my books.”

  “And when you add that most likely those of our rank in society would not be visiting an illegal opium den, it becomes even more interesting. Perhaps in London that would happen and could go unnoticed to some degree with the size of the city, but in Bath”—he shook his head—“it would be much too dangerous to visit an opium den and have it not become common knowledge.”

  “The police said they know Mr. Miles is selling drugs, yet he remains free.”

  “It is my guess they are hoping to catch whoever is providing Miles with the drugs more than the local distributor.”

  “Mr. Harris,” they both said at once.

  “That would be more of a boon, to stop the flow of drugs into the country.”

  Amy considered what he said. “Then, if we want a connection between Mr. Miles and Mr. St. Vincent, we need to look at Mr. Miles’s drug business.” She stopped for a moment, starting to feel weary, something she had experienced ever since the accident.

  Which, it turned out, had not been an accident at all.

  “I apologize; I am getting tired. There is a connection, since Mr. Albright identified Mr. Miles as the man who sold him drugs, and we know from Miss Hemphill’s note that Mr. St. Vincent was importing the drugs.”

  “Yes. I think we considered this before. But why kill your fiancé since he was providing the drugs?”

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  William climbed to his feet, leaning on his cane. “I believe I will leave you now. I have an appointment with the coach-maker, and I can see you are ready for some rest.”

  They walked to the front door together, where William took his leave, and Amy slowly mounted the stairs to her bedchamber and climbed onto her bed, staring at the overhead canopy. The last thought she had before drifting off was to wonder why Lady Carlisle and Mr. Miles had been arguing.

  * * *

  The following Friday, Amy again awaited William’s arrival. He’d sent a no
te around saying that if she was as disgruntled at being confined due to the last few days of rain as he was, they should take a ride in the park and perhaps a walk in the shops area.

  Amy perked up when William’s note arrived. She was truly ready to cast off the malaise that had struck her since the accident and had been compounded by the foul weather. The air had warmed, and the sky was bright blue. She was ready for some fresh air and maybe even a visit to one of the tea shops.

  She washed and dressed her hair, and with her clothing covering her bruises, she looked almost normal. Persephone had been content to just lie around since the accident, keeping her mistress company while stuck indoors.

  “Persephone. It’s time for some fresh air.” The dog looked up from where she was enjoying her nap by the fireplace in Amy’s room. Lazily, she climbed to her feet and stretched.

  Instead of awaiting Lacey’s summons, Amy made her way downstairs and settled into a comfortable chair in the drawing room. Persephone jumped up onto the chair and collapsed onto Amy’s lap. “You’re getting very lazy.” She glanced out the window, again grateful for the lovely, sunny weather.

  The sound of carriage wheels caught her attention. She pushed the window curtain aside for a clearer view and watched as a brand-new carriage with the Wethington crest on the door rolled to a stop in front of the house.

  In less than a minute, the door knocker sounded, and Lacey opened the door to William. He was no longer using his cane but did walk slowly into the room.

  “Well, it appears we are looking at least good enough to face the world.” William grinned as he walked forward and took Amy’s extended hand. “It is a pleasure, as always, to see you, Lady Amy.”

  She gave him a dip and returned his smile. “And you as well, my lord.”

  Since they’d both missed the book club meeting the night before, they hadn’t spoken since William’s previous visit, when the detectives had been questioning her.

  Amy retrieved Persephone’s leash from Lacey, who stood at the door. William helped her down the stairs and into the carriage with all the finesse of a gentleman caller.

  He cringed as Persephone jumped onto the deep-green velvet seat covering, walked in a small circle, and then plopped down, her head resting on her front paws.

  “Don’t be concerned. She just had a bath.” Amy smoothed her hand over the fabric. “This is lovely. I can’t believe you were able to secure a new carriage so quickly.”

  “It helps to be prompt to pay your bills. Mr. Granger, who makes such excellent coaches, had one in the making that was being held up for payment. I waved the correct amount of blunt in his face, and he quickly substituted the crest he’d already painted with mine.”

  Amy smoothed her skirt and looked around the carriage. “I know the upper crust are notorious for not paying invoices or paying them late. I always try to take care of my bills promptly as well. The people who do the work have families to feed. It is quite unfair to expect them to wait for their money.”

  William dipped his head. “Very noble of you, Lady Amy. I wish more of our ilk felt the same way.” It had taken a few minutes to get them settled, and then William tapped on the ceiling and the coach was off.

  “I didn’t realize your carriage had been completely destroyed.”

  “It hadn’t, but when we discussed the repairs necessary, and I took into account that it was already twelve years old, I decided to go for a new one.”

  “Would you think me a silly goose if I told you my heart is hammering in my chest at being in a carriage once again?” Amy attempted a smile but didn’t think she’d quite made it.

  William reached across the space separating them and took her hand. “Not at all. Truth be known, I am a bit uneasy myself. But for our peace of mind, I had my driver check everything about the carriage before we left.

  “He was extremely upset that he did not notice the wheel had been ruined the night of the accident. I attempted to convince him ’twas not his fault, but the man still feels guilty. Especially, he said, because ‘that lovely young lady’ was in the carriage.”

  Amy grinned. “How nice of him to say that. And I agree; unless he was in the habit of always checking the wheels before taking off, there is no reason to feel guilty about not checking it that evening.”

  “Not at all. He’d done nothing different. After dropping off their passengers, the drivers steer the carriages over into the empty lot next to the Assembly Rooms, where they gather and have a bit of conversation and a spot or two of drink. Apparently, someone waited until all the drivers were busy before they did the damage.”

  William was such a nice man to not fault his driver for the mishap. So many men would have given the driver a tongue-lashing, or even sacked him. Another reason she felt William was truly an upstanding man.

  It unsettled her a bit that the list of his good points was growing. And the fact that she was unsettled merely unsettled her more.

  Once the carriage came to a stop at the entrance to the park, the driver quickly jumped from his perch and opened the door. He helped William down, by which his lordship seemed a bit taken aback, and then assisted Amy out of the vehicle.

  “I could certainly have helped her ladyship out of the carriage,” William groused at the man.

  The driver merely gave William a sharp salute. “I will be waiting right here for you when you are finished with your walk, milord.”

  “Thank you.” William took Amy’s arm and moved her onto the footpath. “I hope John gets over his guilt soon. I am beginning to feel like he is my mother.”

  Amy laughed and looked over her shoulder at the huge man with the full mustache and beard. “He doesn’t look like anyone’s mother.”

  “Ah, but you have not met mine.” His crooked smile left her wondering if he was serious or joking.

  Every year Amy thought autumn was her favorite season until the following spring arrived and she changed her mind. The new light-green leaves on the trees, the sweet-scented grass, and the carefully planted and pruned flowers all raised her spirits after a long, dreary winter. She and William strolled along, not speaking of anything in particular, almost as if by mutual agreement leaving the subject of murder, killers, and annoying detectives behind for the afternoon.

  Persephone was on her good behavior and walked alongside them, sniffing the ground, but otherwise not pulling and making the walk difficult. They chatted amicably, taking a complete circle around the park, stopping to speak with several others who were enjoying the lovely day.

  “Would you care to ride over to Sally Lunn’s and get one of her famous buns? It’s been a while since I’ve had one,” William said as they headed toward the waiting carriage.

  “Yes, I believe I would. I haven’t had one of Sally Lunn’s buns in ages. I always think of that poem: No more I heed the muffin’s zest / The Yorkshire cake or bun, / Sweet Muse of Pastry! teach me how / To make a Sally Lunn.”

  “I thought there was a great deal more to the rhyme.” William assisted her into the carriage.

  Amy laughed. “There is. But I only remember the first four lines and the last four: But heed thou well to lift thy thought / To me thy power divine; / Then to oven’s glowing mouth / The wondrous work consign.”

  “Then we shall make a visit to Sally Lunn’s and enjoy one of her famous buns that no one has the recipe for.” He settled across from her. “One thing I want to tell you before I forget.” William held on to the strap as the carriage moved forward. “It’s been a pleasant day, and not one where a discussion on murder and mayhem seems appropriate.”

  “I agree. It was rather nice to keep all of that at bay.” She studied his suddenly serious demeanor.

  “I made it to my club yesterday for a short time. And I happened upon the man who told me about the argument between Mr. Harris and your fiancé.”

  “Ex-fiancé.”

  “The gentleman, Mr. Roswell, had apparently been with a friend when they witnessed the argument. His friend heard more than Ros
well had and related to him recently that Mr. Harris and Mr. St. Vincent were arguing about the uncle cutting off the nephew’s funds. Mr. St. Vincent was heard to say Harris would get nothing until St. Vincent died.”

  The carriage hit a deep rut in the road and swayed a bit, and both Amy and William grabbed on to the strap, their fearful eyes meeting. Amy held her breath and clutched Persephone, but the carriage continued on just fine.

  William let out a breath and continued. “Mr. Harris then remarked something to the effect that Mr. St. Vincent’s death might not be so very far off.”

  Amy licked her suddenly dry lips. “And Mr. St. Vincent was murdered the following week.”

  CHAPTER 23

  Monday afternoon Amy climbed out of William’s carriage and tugged on the hem of her jacket. “I’m not absolutely certain we can fool this man. We don’t really know much about shipping products.”

  William took her elbow and escorted her to the front door of the RSV Worldwide Shipping Company. He studied the plaque on the door and shook his head. “Not a very innovative name.”

  “It’s St. Vincent’s initials,” Amy pointed out. “Personally, I always thought shipping companies should have exotic names, like the East India Tea Company.”

  They had made an appointment with Mr. Harris to purportedly learn about shipping. The excuse they were using was that Amy wanted to make some investments and that William had advised her that shipping and railroads were the best investments.

  Since they knew Mr. Harris had a need for cash to prop up the newly inherited business, it was assured that he would be delighted to see them.

  Even though she and St. Vincent had been betrothed, she’d never been to his place of business. It was an older brick building, in somewhat good repair. The front area was dedicated to an office, with a large area in back that was most likely used to store products that arrived from his ships.