“The true killer.”
“Precisely,” Marsh responded.
“Aha!” She raised her finger. “You just admitted I am not the main suspect any longer. Yet you arrested me on suspicion of murder. That is false arrest. I demand to be freed.”
A knock on the partially open door drew their attention. A young man stood there in the uniform of a police officer. “Detectives, there is a Lord Wethington here, with a Mr. Nelson-Graves, who says he is Lady Amy’s barrister.”
Carson returned to his chair and sat, leaning back with his fingers intertwined and his index fingers tapping his lips. “Show them in.”
William entered first, his eyes flicking around the room until they landed on Amy. “Lady Amy! Are you well?” He strode in her direction but stopped right in front of her, his hands reaching out as if to embrace her. Then, thinking better of it, he dropped them to his side.
“Thank you for coming, my lord. I am well and more than ready to leave here and return to my home.”
Mr. Nelson-Graves stepped up to Detective Carson and held out his hand. “I am Mr. Nelson-Graves, Lady Amy Lovell’s barrister, retained by her father, the Marquess of Winchester.”
Her barrister apparently felt that reminding the detectives of with whom they were dealing might give him the upper hand. In her experience, the detectives were not impressed by titles.
“Yes, I remember you from our meeting with Lady Amy, her father, and Wethington right after Mr. St. Vincent was found.”
Mr. Nelson-Graves nodded. “Good. Perhaps, then, we can all sit down and discuss this?”
More chairs were brought in and they all sat, William next to her, his chair so close that the heat from his body and the familiar scent of his bath soap calmed her. She’d never been so glad to see him. She would not have thought to bring the barrister, which was why sometimes, she supposed, men did have clearer heads then women, as traitorous as that thought was.
Based on what Marsh had said, they no longer thought she had killed Mr. St. Vincent. Or at least with no positive proof, they had begun to look in other directions. That was a relief, but she had no intention of abandoning their search for the killer.
With the strange way Mrs. Miles and Lady Carlisle had been behaving of late, and with Mr. Miles being the drug dealer who might still be working with Mr. Harris, it opened up an entirely new avenue to explore.
The murder-mystery writer in her would not let go of all the hard work they’d done and the clues they’d accumulated. While the men discussed and argued about her arrest and how to settle the matter, she smiled at the words the detective had ranted about how she knew nothing of police investigations. Wouldn’t he be surprised to learn she wrote books about police investigations? He would be further surprised to know she possessed an array of books on the subject.
More relaxed than she’d been for the last couple of hours, she realized her mind had drifted while the men spoke, and now there was a great deal of paper shuffling and gathering of documents by Mr. Nelson-Graves as he shoved them into his satchel.
She leaned toward William, which was no great distance. “What happened? I’m afraid I’ve been woolgathering.”
“You are being set free. Mr. Nelson-Graves has arranged for you to be bonded out.”
Amy hopped up. “Excellent.”
“Wait just one minute, Lady Amy.” Detective Marsh rose. “We want no more interfering in our investigation. Your barrister here has assured us you will stop following in our footsteps.”
“I agree not to follow in your footsteps.” An easy promise to make, since they seemed to be steps ahead of the detectives.
She looked over at Mr. Nelson-Graves, who certainly had the proper last name. His demeanor was indeed grave, and he looked now like he wanted to lock her up himself. ’Twas too bad she’d been ruminating while they spoke about how she could continue on. Although she hadn’t listened to the exchange, she was sure the detectives’ words about her interference had not been pleasant and had put that scowl on her barrister’s face.
Surely Papa would also hear from Mr. Nelson-Graves. Her one salvation was, being under bond from the court, she would not be able to leave Bath without permission, which she hoped the detectives would not grant when Papa arrived. She did not want to be hustled off to London.
Right now all she wanted was to get William alone and discuss the latest ideas she had about Mrs. Miles and Lady Carlisle.
Good-byes were uttered, and Amy, Mr. Nelson-Graves, and William left the police department. She shuddered as they walked down the stairs to William’s carriage, happy to be gone from the dark building.
“Where shall we drop you, Mr. Nelson-Graves?” William asked as they all settled in the carriage.
“My Bath office at number seventeen Stall Street, if you please.”
William tapped on the ceiling and gave the driver the direction, and the carriage moved forward.
Mr. Nelson-Graves cleared his throat and looked Amy square in the eye, an act that had her squirming like a small child caught with a stolen biscuit. “Lady Amy, I feel that I must act in your father’s absence. I absolutely agree with the detectives that any investigation of Mr. St. Vincent’s murder must be left to the professionals.”
Oh, how she ached to tell him she was a professional. A writer of murder mysteries. But as a bow of deference to her father, she remained silent on that point. “I understand.” Eyes downcast, she uttered the words like a meek female, as was expected.
William choked.
She scowled sideways at him.
“I will send a report to your father immediately and advise him of this latest development. I am quite pleased with the conversation between myself and the detectives. Although they haven’t said it outright, it is my opinion that the arrest on the charge of suspicion of murder was merely to get your attention and impress upon you that you are to remain out of police business.”
She swallowed her retort and merely smiled and nodded her head like a good little girl.
And continued to plan their next step.
* * *
“Amy, I really think we need to pull back and stay out of the detectives’ way.” William continued his argument as they proceeded toward the business section of Bath. It was the day after her arrest. She’d spent the rest of the prior day taking a long, hot bath to erase as much as possible her memory of the police department.
After a nap and a restorative dinner, she’d spent the evening hours going over all her notes from the investigation and adding new ones they’d recently uncovered. Right now she clutched a list of jewelers in Bath she intended to visit so she could learn about replacing real stones with paste.
“Don’t be a ninnyhammer, William. Yes, I know what we are doing could be dangerous, but we are merely questioning jewelers about replacing stones in my own jewelry. If my suspicions are correct and Lady Carlisle has a problem with opium, selling her jewels to pay for it makes sense. Before we can seriously add Lady Carlisle to our diminishing list of suspects, we need to learn if Mrs. Miles’s accusations about Lady Carlisle’s jewels being fake are true.
“Lord Carlisle is very wealthy. There could be no innocuous reason for his wife to be selling her jewels. A lady can hardly ask to have her allowance raised because her opium supplier is pressing for payment.”
He shook his head. “I am not disputing doing this search but still believe my suggestion to have me do this and let you remain at home is a better idea.” He raised his hand as her face grew flushed and she opened her mouth to speak. “I know what you are about to say. I know you want to do this yourself.” He reached across the space and took her hand. “I couldn’t stand to see you hurt again.”
Oh, my.
She glanced down to where their hands joined. His so big, skin darkened from the sun, light hairs on his knuckles. Hers delicate and pale. Tiny, completely engulfed by his. She swallowed and looked up at him.
“I don’t want to see you hurt,” he repeated, and pulled bac
k to lean against the soft velvet squab, leaving her hand cold.
They said nothing more as they continued their ride. Eventually they arrived at the business center where several jewelry shops conducted their trade. They stepped out of the carriage into the gloomy, cloudy day, and William gave his driver instructions on where to meet them.
Then, arm in arm, they moved away from the vehicle and headed to the jewelry store directly across the street.
A light, merry tinkle of a bell announced their arrival. The shop owner looked up from where he spoke with a gentleman. “I will be with you directly. There are seats near the window if you wish to sit, or you may look at the offerings if you so choose.”
The shop was small but contained several display cases of jewels. The owner was a man of about fifty years, with a large moustache and rotund belly. It appeared he was in negotiations with his customer, who wanted to pay less for a watch.
Instead of sitting, Amy wandered the shop, looking at the various offerings. William followed behind her, commenting on sundry pieces. Within about ten minutes the gentleman left the store—without the watch—and the store owner approached them.
“Good day.” He smiled at them. “I am Mr. Oglethorpe, and let me guess, you are here for an engagement ring?”
William and Amy glanced at each other, then away as quickly as possible. Her heart took to pounding, and the rise in the room’s temperature made her regret not having her fan handy.
William began to clear his throat in a nervous sort of way. She decided to rescue them both. “Um, actually no. We are here about my necklace.” Amy withdrew her ruby-and-diamond necklace from her reticule, annoyed to see her hand shaking as she placed it on the counter.
’Twas best not to look at William until she had calmed down. “I have heard that it is possible to replace real stones with paste so the item appears exactly the same.” She looked up at the man. “Is that so?”
Apparently completely oblivious to the discord he had caused by his question, the jeweler picked up the necklace to examine it. “Yes. It is quite possible to do that. It’s been known for owners to do so. Sometimes they sell the stones if they need money, and other times they keep the stones in a safe at home and wear the paste jewelry when they go about to avoid theft.”
Amy nodded. “Yes. That is what I have been considering.”
“Then you are wishing to replace the stones in this necklace with paste, my lady?”
She looked at the necklace as if pondering that very thing. Of course, she had no intention of doing so. Even if she needed the money—which she didn’t—Papa would be livid if he knew she’d done such a thing.
Which brought her back to the reason for their visit to jewelers this afternoon. Why would someone as wealthy as Lady Carlisle sell her stones and replace them with paste? “I assume your work is brilliant, Mr. Oglethorpe, but would you have a customer that you did this for who I might speak with? As a reference?”
He appeared taken aback, her question apparently not one he’d received before. But if she were to confirm what Mrs. Miles had said, this information was vital.
“I have not done a replacement for some time, and it was in London when I had my shop there. Many of the gentlemen replaced their wives’ jewels with paste with the intention of buying the gems back later.”
“Did they ever?” William asked.
He shook his head. “No. I never had even one man return with the stones to have them put back into the piece. I’m afraid they found other uses for the money they received. In any case, I am afraid there is no one I can offer as a reference.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Oglethorpe. I will consider having it done, but I need more time to consider it.” Amy scooped the necklace up and dumped it into her reticule. She and William left the shop.
“That was an interesting conversation.” William escorted her across the street and around the corner, where another jewelry shop was located. “It is quite disheartening to know that gentlemen give their wives jewelry and then turn around and have the stones replaced.”
She glanced up at him as they approached the next jewelry store. “That is not something you would do, my lord?”
He looked at her aghast. “Of course not. I think you would know that about me.”
“Yes. You are right. You are much too honest and decent to do such a thing.”
There was another series of throat clearing as he opened the door to the next shop and escorted her inside.
They visited six shops before they found one where the shop owner offered Lady Carlisle as a reference for switching out stones. They also confirmed it was her and not Lord Carlisle who had requested that the jewels be removed and replaced with paste. He also confirmed that she had asked about where she could sell the gems.
“Well, we have made some progress this afternoon,” William said as the carriage began the journey back to Amy’s house. “We now know that Mrs. Miles was correct and the jewelry Lady Carlisle wears is paste. The question that remains is, why would a woman married to a man who holds one of the oldest titles in England, and who is, by all accounts, quite wealthy, have need for money from the sale of her jewelry?”
“Based on what we’ve learned, most likely to buy drugs.” Amy fiddled with the reticule in her lap, the sound of the necklace stones rubbing against each other oddly soothing.
They remained silent for the rest of the short ride back to her townhouse. The carriage pulled up to the front door just as another gentleman climbed the steps. He turned at the sound of carriage wheels, and Amy groaned.
“What is it?” William looked with concern at her and then at the man on the steps. The driver opened the door to the carriage, and William stepped out and reached for her.
“The man glowering at us is my brother, Michael. The Earl of Davenport.”
William straightened and took her arm as they made their way up the stairs. “Should I be concerned?” he asked softly from the side of his mouth.
“No. The concern is all mine, I’m afraid.” They reached her brother, who had stepped into the entrance hall. “Good afternoon, Michael.”
“Do you have any idea how many other things I need to attend to in London? That the very last place I want to be right now is standing here?”
Amy removed her light jacket and handed it to Lacey. “Then why are you standing here?”
“Who is this?” Michael asked, his eyes narrowed.
William held out his hand. “William, Viscount Wethington at your service.”
The two men shook, and Michael looked him in the eye, “Are you the man who has been helping my recalcitrant sister get into trouble with the police?”
“Hardly,” William responded with a slight smile. “I find your sister has no problem whatsoever getting into trouble with the police all by herself.”
Amy glared at William. “Traitor.”
CHAPTER 26
Tuesday morning, William’s foot had barely made it to the top step when Amy flung open the door, grabbed his hand, and dragged him into the entrance hall. “I remembered what had been teasing me at the back of my mind the past couple of weeks.”
His brows rose, and a slight smile graced his lips. “And good day to you as well, Lady Amy.”
She’d been up half the night going over her notes and moving small pieces of paper around that consisted of her suspects and the clues they’d uncovered. She’d checked her research notes and books, nodding each time as her ideas were confirmed. Once she’d put together all the parts of the puzzle, she’d sat back and stared at her results with horror.
Unbelievable.
As soon as the sun was up and the hour considered decent, she’d sent Lacey with a note to William to arrive as quickly as possible.
She grinned and pulled him into the drawing room. “Sir Holstein.”
“What? The investigator? He’s now on the list? I think you’ve gone a bit far this time.”
“No. No.” She began to walk in a circle, waving her arm in
excitement. “The memory in the back of my mind that kept troubling me. When Sir Holstein first arrived here for his initial interview, he mentioned what a good friend he was to Lord Carlisle. My father also said so in his missive to me.” She turned and looked at him.
The silence was thick as he absorbed what she had just said. William nodded. “Go on.”
As she opened her mouth to speak, William sucked in a deep breath. “Are you suggesting …?”
She waved him silent. “At the time we thought nothing of Sir Holstein eating bad food. It does happen. But last night when I went over all the information we’ve gathered the last few weeks, I had an epiphany. I checked my medical research books and looked up symptoms of arsenic poisoning.”
“Poisoning!”
“Yes. And all of his symptoms when he arrived here looking so dreadful fit.” She stopped pacing and looked at him. “If you remember—you were here—Sir Holstein mentioned that he’d been to their house several times for dinner.”
William collapsed into the settee behind him. “You think Lady Carlisle poisoned Sir Holstein?”
Amy took in a deep breath. “Yes. In order to remove him from the investigation.”
“And us? I assume you’re blaming her for the carriage wheel as well? I hardly think she would take leave of the Assembly Room with saw in hand and cut the wheels.”
Amy took the seat alongside him. “She would have hired someone. I doubt ’tis hard to find a man who could use the blunt to wait until the drivers were busy with their visit, cut the wheels, and move along.”
William ran his fingers through his hair. “We need to stop and consider this.” He stared straight ahead for a minute. “If your theory is correct, what you are saying is Lady Carlisle killed St. Vincent, then attempted to do away with Sir Holstein and us because we were investigating the murder.”
“Yes.”
“But what about the police? She can’t do away with the entire force. They are investigating the murder, and, I might add, better than we had originally thought.”
A Study in Murder Page 25
