Solving Sophronia (The Blue Orchid Society, #1)

by Jennifer Moore

  “Very well, Miss Bremerton,” he said.

  “Thank you.”

  He felt the cold of his watch fob and realized the ornament was the object of Miss Bremerton’s earlier inquiry. “It is a bullet. It . . . ended the life of a friend of mine.” A lump constricted his throat, and he was surprised he could still be so affected after all these years.

  She leaned closer, squinting to study it. “Rather macabre. I wonder that you keep it.”

  The question in her tone didn’t seem to be criticizing, only curious. “It is a reminder,” he said.

  “Of your friend?” She glanced up from her scrutiny, her gaze meeting his.

  Saying yes would be easy enough, and it would end the conversation, but he owed Tom more than that. The bullet was a reminder of so much more than the man who’d given him a chance when the world would just as soon have been rid of another orphan pauper. He felt the bumps and ridges of the lump of metal with his thumbnail. The fob represented not only the loss of his mentor but also his own failure that day.

  “It reminds me to take nothing for granted.” He held up the bullet between two fingers, reinforcing the small size of the deformed lump of lead. “That something small and seemingly insignificant can change everything.” His voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat as he let the chain drop back against his waistcoat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “He must have been important to you.”

  “Yes.”

  “What was your friend’s name?”

  “Tom Stackhouse.” Jonathan hadn’t spoken the name aloud since the funeral three years earlier. Hearing it made his heart ache. But at the same time, it was of some comfort that a new person would hear it and know Tom had lived. “He was the best man I ever knew.”

  “High praise indeed.” Miss Bremerton gave a soft smile. She turned to look out the window, leaning back to get a better view of the road ahead. “We are nearly there.”

  Jonathan was grateful for the change of topic. Breaking into tears on the way to apprehend a murderer would seriously undermine his competence as a representative of the Crown.

  When they reached the assembly hall, a woman led them to the administrative wing of the building. They passed through a waiting room and were shown into the manager’s office. Upon their entering, a slender man with wire spectacles and a thin mustache rose to greet them.

  “Edgar Smudgely.” He motioned to the seats in front of his extremely tidy desk, and once Miss Bremerton and Jonathan were seated, he sat behind it and clasped his hands together on the desktop. “How may I be of assistance?” Mr. Smudgely’s dark hair was parted quite precisely and appeared to be plastered to his head.

  “Detective Jonathan Graham, and this is my associate, Miss Bremerton.” Jonathan set his hat on his knee and pulled aside his jacket to reveal his badge. “Mr. Smudgely, are you aware that one of your employees was murdered two nights ago?”

  “Oh my.” He opened his eyes wide, the effect magnified by his spectacles. “Who?”

  “George Lewis,” Jonathan said.

  “He was a footman, I believe,” Miss Bremerton added.

  Mr. Smudgely crossed to a cabinet and slid open a drawer. “I’m afraid I do not know every employee by name,” he said, fingering through the files. “Our full staff consists of more than one hundred, you see. Though, how many are present at one time varies depending on the needs of the particular event.” He slid out a file. “George Lewis. Here we are.”

  “Was Mr. Lewis working Monday evening?” Jonathan asked.

  Mr. Smudgely sat back at his desk. He opened the file and ran his finger down one of the pages inside. “He was.”

  “At what time would he have arrived?” Jonathan watched the man closely.

  “Three p.m. at the very latest.” Mr. Smudgely closed the file and handed it across the desk to Jonathan. “I have no patience for tardiness. The event that evening required quite a lot of preparation—arranging furniture, hauling displays, that sort of thing—and footmen, of course, did the brunt of it.”

  Jonathan copied down the address of Mr. Lewis’s boardinghouse, but aside from the report of the man’s fistfight, he saw nothing else of interest in the folder. He started to hand it back to Mr. Smudgely but stopped and offered it to Miss Bremerton instead. “May I also see the file of a Nick Sloan?”

  “Certainly.” Mr. Smudgely returned to the cabinet. “And I can personally attest to Mr. Sloan’s presence Monday night. He is the stable manager’s assistant and tended to my carriage himself when I arrived.”

  Jonathan accepted Nick Sloan’s file, looked through it, and wrote down the man’s address. “Is he here today?” He handed the file to Miss Bremerton.

  The young lady paused writing in her notebook to take it from him.

  “No, only the stablemaster, Mr. Parker.”

  As Miss Bremerton read through the files, Jonathan studied Mr. Smudgely. The man was twitchy and nervous, but the temperament appeared to be his natural disposition, not a result of any guilt.

  “Thank you.” Miss Bremerton returned the files to Mr. Smudgely’s desk.

  The man immediately reached forward and straightened them, squaring the edges with the desktop’s corner. “Shall I show you the assembly rooms?” Mr. Smudgely asked.

  “Yes, thank you,” Jonathan said. “And one more thing, sir, if you don’t mind. May I have a list of your employees, their addresses, and a report of which were working Monday evening?”

  The man nodded. “Of course.” He straightened a row of fountain pens with his fingertips. “As I said, the list is extensive. My secretary will be able to provide the most accurate account.”

  Mr. Smudgely spoke for a moment to the woman sitting at a desk in the outer room of his office and then led the pair of investigators back to the main lobby.

  Jonathan had never had occasion to visit the Bellacourt Assembly Hall, and he tried not to gawk at the enormous globe chandelier suspended over the entryway. Thick oriental-style rugs covered dark wooden floors, and the same dark wood was used in carved panels on the walls. Leading from the lobby were sets of doors that opened into different entertaining areas. Directly across from the main entrance, in a place of honor, were large double doors, one of which was open, revealing a grand ballroom beyond.

  A maid in her white apron and cap was dusting a table in the entrance hall. When she saw them, she curtsied and withdrew into another room.

  Jonathan glanced at Miss Bremerton and saw she was again writing in her notebook.

  Mr. Smudgely stepped to the left and opened the doors on that side of the lobby. “Here is our dining room.”

  Tables and chairs were pushed to the walls, and maids were sweeping the floors. At the far end of the room, more doors led to what Jonathan assumed was the kitchen area.

  “The arrangement for Monday evening’s event was rather a casual one, as you see,” Mr. Smudgely continued. “We do have the option of one long table in this room that seats as many as fifty.”

  “What exactly was Monday evening’s event?” Miss Bremerton asked.

  “Oh, you would hardly be interested, miss.” Mr. Smudgely gave a dismissive smile and directed his attention to Jonathan. “William Charles Baldwin, a big-game hunter, presented a lecture on his recent safari to the dark continent. It was fascinating.” Mr. Smudgely gave what appeared to be a shiver of excitement.

  “Oh,” Miss Bremerton said. “I believe I did hear about the event.”

  Mr. Smudgely smiled again as if he were indulging her fancy and gave Jonathan a knowing look. If he only knew who she was, Jonathan imagined the assembly hall’s manager would be falling over himself with flattery instead of rudely dismissing her.

  He glanced at Miss Bremerton, but she did not appear to be offended by the man’s condescension. She watched him with a flat stare, and Jonathan wondered if she was accustomed to her que
stions being disregarded. The idea gave him a twinge of guilt, and inside he cringed. He’d been guilty of the same.

  “Mr. Baldwin brought an elephant’s skull and tusks of ivory and the most amazing photographs,” Mr. Smudgely continued. “The presentation was in the drawing room, through here.” He led them into another room that was arranged with a stage at one end and rows of chairs for an audience facing it. “This space serves very well as a lecture hall, you see.” He gave Miss Bremerton another patronizing smile before returning his attention to Jonathan, as though he were expecting some sort of praise.

  They both ignored him, and Miss Bremerton spoke directly to Jonathan. “My father mentioned it. I believe he may have been here.”

  “It was very well attended by exceptionally prominent people.” Mr. Smudgely put a finger in front of his mouth and leaned closer to Jonathan, facing away from Miss Bremerton. “I really should not say, but there was a member of the royal family in attendance.” He glanced around as if he might be overheard. “Prince Alfred,” he whispered.

  Behind Mr. Smudgely, Miss Bremerton rolled her eyes.

  Jonathan coughed, and using the excuse to turn quickly away from Mr. Smudgely, he widened his eyes at Miss Bremerton, sharing a look of amazement with her at the foolishness of their host. He turned back, adopting a thoughtful expression. “Do you have a list of attendees, Mr. Smudgely?”

  “The Kingsclere Hunting Club hosted the event. They are the ones to whom you should speak about a guest list.” He shook his head as if success in acquiring such a list was not to be expected.

  Jonathan opened his notebook. “What time was the event, sir?”

  “An early dinner was served at six. But as I told you, it was very informal, as is often required during the Season. Men come and go as they are able with family and social commitments. Some arrive late; others leave early.” He shrugged. “The lecture began promptly at seven thirty.”

  “How long did it last?” Jonathan asked as he noted the start time.

  “An hour. But many of the men remained to speak with Mr. Baldwin after the formal lecture ended.”

  “And are you hosting an event tonight?”

  “No.”

  Miss Bremerton moved away from Jonathan and Mr. Smudgely. She walked around the edges of the room, writing in her notebook. Or perhaps she was drawing. Jonathan was eager to hear her opinion on the interview as well as discuss theories.

  “So tonight the hall will be minimally staffed.” Jonathan muttered the words, not expecting an answer. He walked through the lecture hall, tapping his hat against his thigh and picturing the room as it must have been on Monday night, filled with men listening to William Charles Baldwin speak about his African hunting tour.

  “Where are these chairs stored when they’re not being used?” Jonathan asked.

  “The cellar,” Mr. Smudgely said. “The lower level is for storage, the scullery, and the laundry.”

  They would need to search that area as well as the kitchen and stables.

  As Jonathan contemplated where to begin, a knock sounded at the assembly hall door, and a moment later Mr. Smudgely’s secretary entered the lecture hall, followed by four constables from H Division. Jonathan was pleased to see Merryweather among them.

  The secretary gave a paper to Mr. Smudgely and left.

  “If that is all,” Mr. Smudgely said, glancing at the paper, then handing it to Jonathan, “I am very busy.”

  “One moment, if you please, sir.” Jonathan raised his voice as he tucked the secretary’s list into his notebook. “Miss Bremerton?”

  She looked up from her notebook and crossed the room to join them.

  “Have you any questions for Mr. Smudgely?”

  The assembly hall’s manager pulled back, hardly hiding his surprise.

  Miss Bremerton raised a brow, turning from Jonathan to the manager. “I do, as a matter of fact.” She held her pencil over the notebook page. “Mr. Smudgely, would you care to know how Mr. Lewis died?”

  If Mr. Smudgely had appeared surprised earlier, that was nothing to the way he looked now. He opened and closed his mouth, staring at Jonathan as if hoping he might rein in his renegade assistant, who was clearly unaware of what things young ladies should speak of.

  Jonathan ignored the man’s distressed look and crossed his arms, delighted to observe the interaction.

  “You did not ask,” Miss Bremerton continued in a conversational tone. “I find it curious that you should learn of an employee’s murder, possibly in this very building, and not wonder at it.” She watched him, awaiting his reply.

  Mr. Smudgely glanced at the constables near the door. “In this very building, you say?” His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

  “That has yet to be determined.” Miss Bremerton shrugged. “You said yourself he was here Monday evening.” She wrote something in her notebook. “And you claim to have been here as well.”

  “Claim?” Mr. Smudgely sputtered. “Miss, it would have been impossible for me to leave during such an event. Any number of people can vouch for my—”

  “So you and Mr. Lewis were both here two evenings ago,” she cut in. “He is dead, and you did not seem at all curious about the manner in which he was killed.”

  “Miss, your accusation is highly offensive. I have a mind to report this.” He looked again to Jonathan for assistance, but the detective had no intention of stopping the interrogation, nor did he know to whom the man might report Miss Bremerton. He clasped his hands behind his back, quite enjoying Mr. Smudgely’s squirming under the lady’s questioning.

  She lifted her chin, appearing completely unconcerned by his threat. “Sir, I made no accusation. Simply an observation.” She scribbled something in her notebook, pulling it against her chest when Mr. Smudgely leaned to see what she’d written.

  Jonathan considered her action a particularly nice touch.

  “Mr. Smudgely, this is a murder investigation.” Miss Bremerton fixed him with a flat stare. “I do apologize if it is uncomfortable. I can, however, say without a doubt, your discomfort is much less than that endured by Mr. Lewis.”

  “Well, I never.” He straightened his coat lapels and spun. “Further questions can be directed to my secretary.” The assembly hall manager stomped from the room.

  Jonathan could hardly keep back a grin. “Well, miss, your interrogation was certainly aggressive.”

  She folded her arms, glaring toward the doorway. “That man is intoler-

  able.”

  “I concur,” Jonathan said. “Do you think he is our murderer?”

  “No.” She sighed. “I don’t see how it is possible. He would have been tending to guests and arrangements during the event. But I should still like to see him chastened somehow, if only to teach him a lesson in manners.”

  “We don’t incarcerate people for being arrogant prigs,” Jonathan said, holding in a laugh.

  “A pity,” she muttered.

  The constables joined them, and Jonathan reassumed his professional demeanor.

  He instructed them for a moment, and then the men left to search the property and question the few employees present. Jonathan ordered Merryweather to specifically search the stables and speak to the stablemaster. Nick Sloan was their top suspect, and if anything was to be learned, Jonathan trusted Merryweather was the man to do it.

  The constables departed, leaving Jonathan alone with Miss Bremerton.

  “What task do you have for me, Detective?” she asked.

  He smiled at her eagerness to assist. “I wonder if you might contact the hunting club for their guest list from Monday evening’s event.” He imagined, out of all of them, Miss Bremerton would have the most luck getting that information.

  “Of course.” She wrote in her notebook, and a side of her mouth pulled into a partial smile. “They’ll probably assume I’m writing a story a
bout the lecture.”

  Jonathan nodded. Even better. “And if you have the opportunity, you might also speak to your father. He may have seen something last evening, even without realizing at the time that it was significant.”

  “I will talk to him.” She wrote that down as well. “Anything else?”

  “Now for the detective work.” He gave a solemn nod and spread an arm toward the doorway. “Come along, Miss Bremerton. Let us see what we can discover.”

  Chapter 8

  Sophie accompanied Detective Graham back into the entry hall, glad Mr. Smudgely was gone and they could at last get to the business of solving the case. She was already considering how to organize her story; she thought showing the police investigation rather than sensationalizing the details of the murder would be an interesting angle.

  The detective set his brown hat on a side table of the entry hall, then opened the door to a coat closet and stepped inside.

  “What exactly are we looking for?” Sophie asked from the closet’s doorway.

  He pushed aside a few coats, which had apparently been forgotten by partygoers, and took a pair of gloves from a shelf, turning them over and then returning them. “Anything that appears suspicious. Evidence, hopefully. A murder weapon would be nice.”

  “But surely you don’t believe the murders were committed here. The entire place was filled with people Monday evening.”

  He furrowed his brows, sliding a top hat to the side and peering behind it. “You were the one who suggested the idea.”

  Sophie shrugged. “I was just hoping to make Mr. Smudgley uncomfort-

  able.”

  “I see.” The detective left the coat closet, his lips twitching as he brushed past her and leaned on the doorframe.

  She didn’t let herself think about how close he stood. Did Detective Graham smell like a sweet shop?

  “Well, it is indeed a possibility,” he said. “This was George Lewis’s last known location. And we know Jane Duffin told Miss Primm she was going to meet him. Whether she did, and whether their meeting was intended for the assembly hall or somewhere else, is still to be determined.” He pushed wide the double doors and stepped into the ballroom, his footsteps echoing through the cavernous space.