A man sitting at an older wooden desk rose as they entered the office. He was in his midtwenties, with the popular moustache and beard found on so many men. Although, with his young age and light hair color, it didn’t look quite so manly.
He smiled, walked around the desk, and extended his hand to William. “Good day. I am Mr. Haverstock, Mr. Harris’s clerk. I assume you are Lady Amy Lovell and Lord Wethington?”
William took the man’s hand, and they shook. “Yes, we are. I believe we are expected?”
“Yes. Mr. Harris is awaiting you. If you will follow me, I will escort you to his office.”
He led them down a narrow hallway, not very well lit. Amy found herself reaching for William’s hand as he walked in front of her. Goodness, she had to get over this nervous reaction she had been having to things ever since the carriage accident. She had never been of a timorous nature, and it didn’t sit well with her.
Mr. Harris stood as they entered the room. He smiled brightly, no doubt gleeful at the idea of getting his hands on her money after all, and without having to subject himself to marrying an unfortunate woman who had no other prospects.
His office was much more opulent than the clerk’s space. But that was to be expected. No doubt St. Vincent had decorated his office with the idea of impressing potential clients with his wealth.
Which, of course, didn’t exist.
“I have heard rumors that you were involved in a carriage accident on the way home from the Assembly Rooms.” Mr. Harris waved them to chairs in front of his desk, then took the fine leather one behind it.
“Yes. My carriage wheel shattered, and we were sent tumbling through the vehicle. Fortunately, my driver was able to stop the carriage before there were any serious injuries.”
Mr. Harris shook his head. “The city really must do something about these roads. They are not safe, and someone will be killed one day.”
Amy studied him as he spoke, looking for anything in his demeanor that implied guilt at their injuries. Had he been the one to cut the wheel? Unfortunately for their investigation, he looked only curious and annoyed at the city for the poor maintenance of the roads.
They settled into their seats, and Harris rubbed his hands together. She refrained from rolling her eyes at his eagerness. Had the man no sense of refinement?
“Haverstock said you are interested in placing Lady Amy’s money in shipping?” He directed his comment to William, which immediately annoyed her. It was her money they were pretending to invest, but he bypassed her as if she weren’t even there.
William leaned back in his chair in a restful pose, his foot resting on his bent knee. He flipped the sides of his jacket back and stuck his thumbs into the small pockets in the font of his vest.
Harris, on the other hand, leaned forward, all excitement. Things must really be bad in the business, Amy thought.
“Actually, Lady Amy came to me for advice on how to invest a small portion of money she recently inherited. Since she is of age, it came directly to her and not through her father.”
Harris nodded. “Yes.”
Now it appeared William was purposely dragging out his comments, most likely to tantalize their target. She tried hard to hide her smile.
“I do a fairly good job of managing my own portfolio, so I took a look at what I felt was best for her ladyship, and it appeared to me that transportation is a sound venture.”
“Yes, yes.” More nodding. The man was practically drooling.
“I told her either railroads or shipping would be best.”
For the first time Mr. Harris acknowledged her by swinging his attention in her direction. “No, my lady. If I might offer a bit of advice myself. Railroads are not going to last. Too many problems with time schedules and such. Trains breaking down, unreliable, and so forth. You want to put your money into an industry that has been around almost since the beginning of time. Shipping is the soundest way to grow your money.”
Good heavens! She could almost feel the man fishing around in her pocket for the blunt to pour into his business. No one would ever accuse Mr. Harris of being circumspect.
William leaned his chair back on two legs. “Not sure I agree with you there, old boy. I have found railroad investments to be quite profitable.”
Harris waved him off. “Right now, perhaps, but over the long road they will collapse. I am sure of it.” He looked over at Amy again. “I can assure you any money invested in shipping—especially in this company—would give you a satisfactory return.”
It was time for her to step in and have her say. “I assume you would be willing to turn over your books if I decided to invest in RSV Worldwide Shipping?”
Harris hesitated slightly. “Of course. I would just need a few days to bring everything up-to-date.”
A few days to alter the books, he meant.
All this chatter was an excellent way to break the ice, as it were, but they needed to get the information necessary to decide how likely it was that the man sitting in front of them had plunged a knife into his uncle’s chest.
William cleared his throat. “Mr. Harris. I must admit to some reluctance in recommending your company in particular to Lady Amy due to some rumblings I’ve heard in my club about your late uncle. In fact, in all honesty, if Lady Amy hadn’t insisted upon it, I would not have encouraged this visit at all.”
The happy, jolly, eager-to-please man disappeared in a flash, and a cautious one took his place. Mr. Harris eased back in his chair and rearranged his features into what could only be called a mask. “Indeed? Would you care to elaborate, Wethington?”
“In my financial circles there have been rumors that RSV Worldwide Shipping is a bit behind in paying bills.”
Before William had finished speaking, Harris was shaking his head vehemently. “No. Not at all. If that were the case, it would only be because of my uncle’s unfortunate death and the transition of the business from him to myself. It is quite possible some things had been overlooked, but I assure you, RSV Worldwide Shipping pays its bills.”
They might as well get straight to the point. “Did you and your uncle get on, Mr. Harris?” Before he could answer, she added, “I only ask because he never mentioned you to me in the time we were courting.”
If the man thought there was anything odd about her asking that question in the middle of a discussion on investing money, he didn’t show it. He did, however, take his time in answering. “Your fiancé was my mother’s brother.”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“My dear mother favored her brother over the others in the family. She died when I was sixteen years old and named my uncle as guardian for myself and my younger sister.” He leaned back in his chair as he continued to speak. “I won’t say Uncle and I were close, but we tolerated each other.”
Amy flashed back to her dance with Mr. Harris, when he had thanked her for killing Mr. St. Vincent. Apparently the toleration they had for one another was stretched quite thin.
“Were you privy to his business before he died?” William said. “I just wonder how well the business will be run in the future if you only ‘tolerated’ each other. It would seem to me that you didn’t have the information needed to run such a large company.”
At least that question had something to do with the reason they were visiting. If they went too far afield, Mr. Harris might suspect something and refuse to answer any questions at all.
On the other hand, if he was in as dire straits as William’s man of business reported, he would put up with quite a bit of nosiness to get his hands on her money.
“You are correct on that point, my lord. I tried several times to get my uncle to bring me into the business. Learn how to run it and all that. But perhaps he merely felt that by doing so he was contemplating his death, since I was to inherit.”
Or encouraging his nephew to plan the event.
“That is true, but he did draw up a will, which is the same thing,” Amy said.
William leaned forward. “There
was an argument outside Mr. St. Vincent’s townhouse a few weeks ago. I was surprised to hear that, since I was under the impression that you did not reside in England but had spent most of your time on the Continent. I only ask because of my concern for Lady Amy’s investment, you understand.”
Amy couldn’t imagine how the argument between nephew and uncle would affect money she wanted to invest, but if Mr. Harris didn’t question it, she had no intention of pointing that fact out to him. She had to admit, for someone who might have committed a murder, he seemed somewhat relaxed in speaking of the man.
Mr. Harris ran his fingers through his hair. “Yes. I am sorry for that, too. Especially in light of his death only a few days later. In fact, after that argument, I left for London, where I stayed with my younger sister and her husband, who had just welcomed a new child. I returned to Bath once I received the message of my uncle’s demise.”
William’s eyebrows shot up. “You were in London when he was killed?”
“Yes. I needed time to cool off. When I say Uncle and I tolerated each other, I was being generous. He had no liking for me, nor me for him. In fact, he paid me to stay away from him.” The man’s shoulders slumped. “I would have liked to have had a better relationship, but he had no interest in me. He sent an allowance each month so I could live the life of a gentleman, but I would have much preferred to earn my living by working alongside him.”
All the air went out of Amy’s lungs. Not only had Mr. Harris not even been in Bath when St. Vincent was killed—and she was sure that if they checked that fact, it would be true—but he seemed to be almost sorry for the way he and his uncle had not gotten along.
She looked over at William, who stared back at her. They would now have to cross Mr. Harris off their list of suspects. Which, at this point, left only Mr. Miles.
It annoyed her that there was something in the back of her mind that kept nudging at her, but she could not recall it. Scattered pieces which might add up if she put them all together.
Since the reason for their visit had been settled, there was no reason to continue the conversation. She nodded at Mr. Harris. “I want to thank you for answering our questions.” She looked over at William. “Did you have any more questions, my lord?”
William shook his head. “No.”
Harris looked between them, obviously confused. “Would you care to have your man of business look over my books?”
There didn’t seem to be any point in doing that, except to see how badly these false funds were needed. Then she remembered there was still the question of Mr. Miles and Mr. Harris continuing the drug trade that St. Vincent had. How would those transactions appear in the books? Or would they not be there at all?
With Mr. Miles being the final name on their list, seeing the business records for the last few years might give them the necessary evidence to convict Mr. Miles.
“Actually, Mr. Harris, it might be a good idea for Lord Wethington’s man of business, Mr. Harding, to take a look at the records.” She turned to William. “Can you arrange that, my lord?”
“Yes. Of course.” William didn’t seem surprised at her request, so perhaps his thoughts ran along the same line.
William stood and pulled back her chair. The two men shook hands, and they all traversed the dimly lit corridor once again to the small office at the front of the building. The clerk was busy writing but stood as they reached his desk.
He smiled and offered a slight bow. “Have a nice day, my lord, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
William grasped Amy’s elbow, and they made their way out of the building and to the carriage.
Once they were on their way, William said, “If what Mr. Harris says is truth, and he was in London when your fiancé was killed—”
“Ex-fiancé.”
“—then there is no need to pursue him.”
Amy sighed. “Yes. I mentally crossed Mr. Harris off too, based on his comments. It is a simple matter to write to this sister and ascertain that he was there during the time he said. He would not lie about it, since it is too easy to disprove. That might be why the police weren’t looking in his direction. They might have already questioned him and were satisfied with his answers.”
William nodded. “Which could be why his name was not brought up when they questioned you. I did wonder about that at the time.”
As much as she would have liked to circle back to Mr. Miles as a suspect, there didn’t seem to be a strong reason for Miles to kill St. Vincent. If Mr. Miles lost his drug supplier, there would always be the chance that the new owner would not want to be involved with the drug trade. Miles would be taking a huge gamble by murdering her fiancé.
Ex-fiancé.
The situation had become frustrating. Her biggest fear was that if they could not come up with someone else, then the police would naturally turn back to her. Someone had killed Mr. St. Vincent. Someone in her garden. That was the main consideration. Had Mr. St. Vincent arrived with someone else, and had they gone to the garden together?
But she had questioned her staff, and they’d never mentioned anyone arriving with Mr. St. Vincent. Every time she answered one question, another came up. Solving a real-life murder mystery was harder than writing about one, where she could decide all the finer points to keep her readers guessing.
William sat up in his seat and peered out the window. “I say, isn’t that Lady Carlisle and Mrs. Miles?” He pointed to two women, one with her arms flying about as she spoke and one patiently listening, appearing to try to soothe the other woman. They were having their discussion in front of one of the fishmonger shops.
Amy scooted to the edge of the seat and looked. “Yes. That is definitely them.” She turned to William. “You must have your driver stop so we can offer our assistance.”
William tapped on the ceiling of the vehicle, and the carriage came to a stop about twenty feet in front of the women.
She and William both left the carriage and hurried toward them. Lady Carlisle appeared agitated and was perspiring quite heavily. Her face was pasty white, and she kept trying to loosen the hold Mrs. Miles had on her.
The older woman looked distraught, and relief flooded her face when she spotted Amy and William approaching them. “Oh, my dears, I am so very glad to see you. It seems Lady Carlisle has taken ill.”
Lady Carlisle ripped her arm away from Mrs. Miles, who was clinging to her as if she expected the woman to race down the street.
“Lady Carlisle, are you unwell?” Amy asked as she walked slowly to her. The woman did look more than a little out of sorts. Her eyes moved rapidly back and forth, almost as if she was consumed with fear and looking for a way to run.
“I am not unwell, Lady Amy. I will just continue with my walk. Thank you for your concern.” She took only a few steps and then stopped and gripped her middle, letting out a slight groan.
Amy touched her on the shoulder, and she jumped. “Lady Carlisle, we have Lord Wethington’s carriage with us. I think it would be best if we escorted you home.”
Lady Carlisle pulled away. “No. I will walk. But thank you.” She hurried away, leaving Mrs. Miles, Amy, and William staring after her.
“Should we insist?” Amy asked William.
“No. Something is troubling her, and she needs to walk it off.” He turned to Mrs. Miles. “May we offer you a ride home, Mrs. Miles?”
“No. Thank you very much, but my son, Richard, is visiting with Mr. Harris and will arrive shortly. I will just spend some time in the shops.” With a brief smile, she turned and headed to the millinery shop.
Amy and William looked at each other. “What the devil was that all about?” William asked.
“I assure you that I have no idea.” Amy stared at Mrs. Miles’s back as she disappeared into the store. After walking only a few steps, Amy gasped.
“What?”
She continued to watch where Lady Carlisle had run off to. “I knew there was something I was overlooking.”
“And
that is?”
“I have a strong suspicion that Lady Carlisle is not suffering from exhaustion due to too many dinner parties on behalf of her husband.”
“And?” William said.
“I’m beginning to think Lady Carlisle might be addicted to opium.”
CHAPTER 24
Amy growled in frustration as she attempted to adjust her dress with her bruises still not completely healed. It wasn’t so much the pain of movement, since that had ceased, but she still showed some fading black-and-blue marks on her arms that the dress didn’t cover. The garment was twisted about, and as much as she resisted having someone help her dress, she marched to her bedroom door, flung it open, and called for Lacey.
“What do you need, milady?” Lacey hurried into the room, took one look at the twisted mess Amy had made of her dress, and burst into laughter. “Oh, I am so sorry for laughing, but you look quite funny.”
Despite her annoyance at the situation, Amy had to laugh when she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, she was a clothing disaster. “Help me straighten this out, please. Try your best to cover the fading bruises. Lord Wethington will be here shortly to escort me to the book club meeting.”
“Maybe you should choose another dress, or maybe take a shawl with you.”
“No. The book club room is always over-warm. Just see if you can adjust the sleeves a bit, and maybe add a lace collar to the bodice. There is one in my armoire that would go nicely with the dress.”
Lacey retrieved the collar, placed it around Amy’s neck, and began to move it in various ways to cover the fading mark on her upper chest. “We are seeing quite a bit of Lord Wethington lately.”
“What does that mean?” Amy said as she watched Lacey in the mirror.
The maid tried very ineffectively to hide her smile. “Nothing.”
Amy bent her head so she could see Lacey’s face. “What you said was not nothing. Every word has a meaning, and complete sentences have an even greater meaning.”
Lacey smiled. “My goodness, you are a tad touchy about his lordship.”
A Study in Murder Page 23
