George smiled. “Good questions, Frances. I’ll be sure to ask them. The police were called in yesterday and I received this assignment today. I haven’t read the report yet and they can’t check with her bank until tomorrow. With any luck, some fool gave her a bank draft rather than currency. But in any event, I expect the police will make note of any large deposits.”
“Then the whole idea of blackmail is only a theory.”
“At this point, yes.” One brow crept upward as he examined me. “It sounds like you don’t subscribe to that theory.”
“I find it rather far-fetched to say the least. Delaney turned my world upside-down this afternoon, casting two respectable people in a very dark light.”
“Two?” He took my hand from the arm of the chair. “Never say you believe Delaney’s suspicions of Charles.”
“Are they any more incredible than suspecting Mary of blackmail? How would she even know where to begin with such an endeavor?”
“One begins by collecting information, and to my understanding, she certainly had that.” He leaned forward in his chair. “What do you really know of Mrs. Archer? Her financial situation may have suffered since her husband’s death. Perhaps she needed the money desperately and saw no other way.”
“I could make an equally compelling case against Charles. Perhaps he fell in love with Mary and she scorned him. Strong emotions can turn someone to violence.”
George dismissed my charges with a simple wave of our intertwined hands. “He and I have been friends for most of my life. He is neither quick to anger nor violent. Men of his size don’t have to resort to violence. Just a glare from him is intimidating enough.”
“Maybe Mary wasn’t intimidated.”
“Why are you making this argument? Do you really think he could be a murderer? He’s your cousin, for heaven’s sake.”
“He’s a cousin to Reggie and Graham, neither of whom are known for a surplus of integrity.”
“Neither are they known for murderous inclinations. Did Delaney tell you how she was murdered?”
“No.”
He leaned closer. “She was strangled, with a man’s bare hands. Can you picture Evingdon becoming so angry or violent he could wring the life from someone?”
I winced and turned away. Heavens, no. Not Charles. I could not imagine him harming anyone in such a way. I returned my focus to George, shaking my head. His expression was one of relief. Perhaps I should drop this argument. At least for the present.
“So, we’re back to Mary as blackmailer then. When will you delve into all her salacious memoranda?”
“I’m to pick it up tomorrow, unless of course Inspector Delaney arrests Evingdon for the murder.” George dropped my hand as he stood. “I should pay him a call and make sure he survived the interview. Did Delaney march straight over there?”
“I’m sure he did.” I rose to my feet and brushed the wrinkles from my skirt. “Let me go with you.”
He cocked one eyebrow. “Why do you wish to go?”
“Sympathy? He may have had feelings for Mary. He may be wracked with grief.”
“He’d just told you he was dropping the connection.”
I lifted my chin and dared him to argue further. “Fine. Then I’m going out of guilt. I brought this trouble to his door. Not only did I introduce him to Mary, I also sent Delaney after him.”
Chapter 4
As Viscount Evingdon preferred a country life, Charles lived in his brother’s town house on Albemarle Street in Piccadilly. The area was home to holders of the most ancient titles but only a short trip by carriage from my home in Belgravia, on the other side of Green Park and Buckingham Palace. The ride gave me little time to quiz George about his acquaintance with Charles.
“How did the two of you come to be such great friends?”
George lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “We met at school.”
“But he’s several years older than you. Isn’t that unusual?”
“Older boys often took us younger ones under their wings. At the age of twelve, I was not the great hulking brute you see before you now. With Charles as my mentor, I was saved a great deal of bullying.”
The image he brought to mind was one I could hardly credit. For one thing, he was hardly a great hulking brute. He was tall but more fashionably lean than hulking. As for Charles taking anyone under his wing, I’d be more inclined to believe he’d accidentally smother them as protect them. School ties would have to suffice as an explanation.
“He just seems a different type than you. He is a younger son yet he has no profession. He’s never married and lives at his brother’s home in town. Has he no ambition?”
“He’s the heir.”
I waved aside his answer. “Yes, he told me that was his reason for seeking a wife. But that’s only recently been determined, when the viscount and viscountess realized they were not to be blessed with a son. What were his prospects before then?” I bit my lip, awaiting George’s reaction. Perhaps I was being rather hard on Cousin Charles. “I don’t mean to say he’s wasting his life, by any means, and it’s no business of mine even if he is. I only mean since you are so constantly occupied with business or investigating, he seems to be your opposite.”
George lifted his hand in a c’est la vie gesture. “To some degree I suppose we are, but that hardly negates friendship.”
As we had arrived at the Evingdon home, I suppose that was all the answer I’d receive.
Upon presenting our cards to the butler, we were shown into a bright sitting room, decorated in the typical, tasseled style popular a decade or so ago, and accessorized with so many bits and bobbles, one could only refer to it as clutter. This was one of the older homes in the neighborhood and had clearly not been redecorated for some time. Since the current Lady Evingdon rarely came to town, I suppose care of the house belonged to Charles. Dozens of small framed pictures littered every table; books, both opened and closed, were scattered about; knickknacks and gewgaws adorned every horizontal space.
“Where is one to sit?” I whispered to George, just as our host entered the room to greet us.
“Hazelton,” he said, stretching out a hand to his friend. “How good of you to call.” He turned to me. “And Cousin Frances as well. Lovely to see you. Blakely should have taken you to the drawing room.” His gaze took in the room. “Bit of a mess, isn’t it?” He flashed his winsome smile. “But since we are here, might as well make the best of it.”
He brushed past me, sweeping a few books from the divan and indicating we should be seated. Taking a seat in a chair across from us, he was clearly agitated, stacking the books on the table, shifting his gaze back and forth between us. “Would you care for some refreshment?” he asked finally.
“Not necessary,” George replied. “We stopped by because we suspect you are either about to, or perhaps just had, a visit from the police.”
“Ah, yes, the inspector chap. I say, have you the sight or something?” He gave George a sharp look. “Left just a few moments ago. How’d you know he’d be coming here?”
“I’m afraid I’m the one who sent him here, Cousin Charles,” I said. “Well, indirectly anyway. You see, he was asking me about Mary Archer and I told him about introducing the two of you.” I raised my hands in a helpless gesture. “In his mind, that rather made you a suspect.”
“Ah, that explains it. I wondered how he knew I was acquainted with her.”
“I take it he informed you of Mary’s . . . passing?”
“Indeed, he did. With all the details. Such a wretched end for such a kind woman. I’m afraid I may have misjudged. That is to say, perhaps I was too hasty.” He blew out a breath as if to compose himself. “Damn, I feel like the devil about the whole situation.” His face reddened. “Oh, damn! Forgive me, cousin.” He waved his hand in an agitated manner. “I mean, forgive my language. It was completely in-inappropriate. Blast!” He grimaced at the expletive and jumped to his feet. “Apologies. I believe I will order some refreshment.�
��
Rather than ringing for a servant, he strode to the door and, pulling it open, stuck his head out. “Blakely!” he shouted. “Whiskey!”
“I don’t think Lady Harleigh would care for spirits,” George said, while I simply stared as the scene played out before me.
About to close the door, he leaned through the opening. “And tea,” he ordered. “Bring tea as well.”
George ran a hand through his hair as my cousin strode back to his seat. “Charles, are you well?”
“Not at all, thank you.”
He rested his elbows on his thighs and dropped his head into his hands. “That inspector chap thinks I did it. That I murdered Mrs. Archer. He’s probably off to find the rope to hang me.”
“He has suspicions. There’s a great distance between suspicion and conviction. And my hope is to remove you from his suspect list as soon as possible. That is, if you’re willing to share with us the content of your meeting with Delaney.”
Charles darted a glance at me, then locked eyes with George, who gave him a nod. I suppose I could understand why he would question my trustworthiness.
“I did not intentionally point the police in your direction, and as soon as I knew Delaney was coming to interview you, I contacted Mr. Hazelton in the hope he could provide some legal support if needed.”
George gave me a quizzical glance, and I glared back. Yes, I was stretching the truth a bit, but it hardly mattered now.
Before he could reply, a tap sounded at the door, followed by Blakely entering with the tea tray and a decanter of spirits, presumably the requested whiskey. While the butler laid the table, Charles took the decanter and set it aside.
I lifted the teapot and gave him a questioning glance.
He smiled. “Yes, Cousin Frances, I do believe tea would be the better choice after all.”
“Back to the matter at hand,” George said, accepting a cup from me. “Shall we discuss your interview with Inspector Delaney? Clearly, he didn’t arrest you, but I am curious about his line of inquiry. Did he indeed treat you as a suspect in Mrs. Archer’s murder?”
“He didn’t say the words, but I certainly felt like a suspect.” Charles took the cup of tea I offered and placed it on the table to his side. “He asked me a great many questions. How long had I known her? Had I ever visited her home? How close was our relationship and why did I decide to end it?”
He glanced at me. “I didn’t read about her death in the Times until this afternoon. When I spoke to you I had no idea she had died.” He dropped his gaze to his hands. “And the bit about foul play came as a surprise. I was prepared when the inspector came calling. But he did seem to view me with more suspicion than I would have thought circumstances warranted.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Evingdon,” George said. “This case may prove to be a difficult one for Delaney. It’s possible Mrs. Archer was involved in activities that would allow for a great many unknown suspects. When Frances mentioned you, Delaney pounced on the chance of at least one known suspect. Did he provide any information about her death?”
“Far too much for my comfort.” He sighed. “After that, he asked the questions, and I answered.”
“It would be good to hear what your answers were,” George said.
Charles gave him a rueful smile. “I met her through Lady Harleigh about three weeks ago. I escorted her to the theater and dinner, in company with several friends two weeks ago. We visited the British Museum last week and had another outing to the theater.” He glanced at me. “I enjoy the theater. As that is the whole of my acquaintance with Mrs. Archer, it should be clear it wasn’t a very close relationship, more of coming to know one another. And yes, I visited her home on two occasions to collect her for our theater outings. We met at the museum.”
“I see. Were you this clear when you spoke with Delaney?”
“Not even close.” He dropped his face back into his hands.
George dipped his head close to mine. “Evingdon tends to blather a bit when under pressure,” he said by way of explanation.
I raised a brow.
He gave me a scowl and turned back to his friend. “Was that the extent of it?”
“No. I had to provide my whereabouts for the whole of Tuesday, some of which was spent in company and the rest, here at home. And I had to explain why I chose not to see Mrs. Archer again.” He threw me a sidelong glance, knowing he had rather dodged that question with me.
George would not be put off. “And?”
“She was keeping company with another gentleman.”
This caught George’s attention. He leaned forward in eagerness. “Who?”
Charles gazed down at his hands. “I’m afraid I don’t know. We had plans for Tuesday evening and Mary sent round a note to cancel. Since I was left at loose ends, I decided to visit a friend who lived near her home. After dining, I drove down her street.”
He examined our expectant faces and scowled. “It was on my way home.” He straightened his back and placed his hands on his knees. “The point is I drove down her street and saw a man leave her house and rush to a waiting carriage.”
He shrugged. “Looking back at the situation, it may have been perfectly innocent, but it didn’t feel that way. His was the only carriage nearby, so she wasn’t entertaining a group. She had every right to see whom she pleased, but it was just the two of them alone in her home, and I suppose I felt slighted she put me off for another man.”
“What night did you say?” George’s voice was thick with tension.
“Tuesday.”
“Oh, dear. Her body was discovered on Wednesday according to the paper.” I glanced at George. “Might she have been murdered Tuesday?”
George raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “It’s possible. A neighbor found her early Wednesday morning. He was walking to his place of business and noticed her door open. When she didn’t answer his knock, he stepped inside. I haven’t heard a more specific time of death yet.”
Charles gave him a quizzical glance. “Why would you? Have you some interest in the matter—aside from your concern about me, which I greatly appreciate of course.”
George took a sip of tea, then carefully placed his cup on the table in front of him, clearly considering how much he could reveal. “There’s a rather sensitive side to this case and I’ve been asked to lend a hand, but rest assured if I must choose between working on this case or mounting a defense for you, I would certainly choose in favor of you.”
“You can’t do both?” Charles’s confusion showed in his blank expression.
“Not out in the open I can’t.” George gave him a reassuring smile. “Behind the scenes I may be able to get away with a great deal. My preference, however, is to eliminate all suspicion of you in this matter, so let’s get back to the man you saw leaving her house. Did you tell Delaney about him? Were you able to provide any sort of description?”
“I did, but I couldn’t tell him any more than I’ve already told you. It was drizzling that evening. The man carried an umbrella that hid his face from my view. All I could really say is he was tall, not really lean or stout. His clothes were dark. No markings on the carriage, so it was probably hired. There was really nothing to identify him.” His brows drew together in frustration. “My memory is unreliable at best, but I can’t think of anything else I might have seen from that distance.”
“What of your coachman?” I asked. “Would Delaney not take his word that you simply drove past?”
“I took the chaise and drove myself.” Charles shook his head. “Just me and the horse and he’s not talking.”
“Well, Delaney must have given your story some credence, since he didn’t arrest you,” I said, hoping to ease his despair.
“They are just beginning their investigation,” George said. “The police will canvass the neighborhood, and with any luck, someone else will have seen the man. If not, depending on the coroner’s determination of the time of death, Evingdon may well have pla
ced himself on the spot at exactly the wrong time, and with no witness to provide an alibi for him.” He shifted his gaze to Charles. “There were no other witnesses, were there? You saw no one else on the street?”
“No. Perhaps a neighbor saw something from a window, but I am aware I’m not off the hook even if neighbors confirm the existence of another man at Mrs. Archer’s home. I only hope you will come to my defense if I find myself arrested for murder.”
“I hope it won’t come to that,” George said. “But you should be prepared for the possibility. And of course, I will defend you.”
I studied George’s face for signs of false bravado, but though he frowned, his jaw was set with determination. I still had trouble seeing Charles as a murderer, but neither did I have George’s confidence.
“First,” he said, “I need to find how far the police have progressed in the investigation, see if they’ve left any clues dangling that I can examine. And since that will keep me sufficiently busy, I may have to hand my task over to Lady Harleigh.”
I held back a gasp. “You mean . . .” My heavens. Was he going to let me read Mary’s notes?
George’s eyes glittered with amusement. “If you don’t find the task too arduous?”
“I believe I’m up to it,” I said, fighting against my urge to jump up and dance a jig. The thought that George would trust me with such a responsibility sent a thrill of exhilaration rushing through my veins.
“Does this task involve those unknown suspects you mentioned earlier?” Charles’s normally open expression had tightened into severe lines and angles. “If it helps to uncover the monster who murdered Mrs. Archer, I must take part in this as well.”
I glanced at George. His hand rose to stroke his chin as he gazed off to the distance. I could empathize with Charles’s need to fight this battle himself, or at least take part in it, but really this wasn’t my decision. “We’re talking about something that’s potentially evidence. If I were your defense counsellor, I would be granted access to that evidence.”
A Lady's Guide to Gossip and Murder Page 4
