The Body in the Garden
Page 27
Lily leaned forward. “How could you have discovered something so quickly?”
“I believe it is his job to do so,” Jack said quietly, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Mr. Page’s expression could almost be called a smirk. “I spent my afternoon paying a visit to the George Inn in Southwark,” he said, pulling a packet of papers from his jacket. “And I found a few things of interest.”
“The George Inn?” Lily asked. “How on earth did you know to look there?”
The Bow Street officer raised an eyebrow at her. “‘His name was Augustus Finch, and he was staying at the George Inn in Southwark.’ Those were your words, were they not, ma’am?”
“Yes, but …” Lily paused, flustered. “I’d no idea you were even listening to me.”
“I wasn’t really,” Mr. Page said with a grin. “But I still remembered it.”
“What on earth could you have found?” Ofelia asked, leaning forward. “I would swear we combed every inch of that room.”
“I’m sure you did, but these weren’t in his room,” Mr. Page said. “He had left them in the innkeeper’s safe. Paid a pretty sum for the privilege, I’d hazard, but they were happy to hand them over when I said the fellow’d been murdered. Folks don’t want any of that sort of nastiness attaching to their place of business.” He looked pleased by their surprise. “There are some benefits to being an officer of the law, you know.”
“There would have to be, to make anyone choose it as a profession,” said Jack, but his voice lacked any malice.
The constable grinned at him. “Makes up for all the sour expressions from your folk.”
“I’m sure it is charming to see you two getting along so well, but what was it you found, sir?” Ofelia broke in, her hands clutching impatiently at the fabric of her dress.
“Well, miss, though I didn’t know it until just a moment ago, what I found is a letter for you.” He held out a neatly folded missive, still sealed, with Miss Ofelia Oswald, 29 North Audley-street London scrawled across the front. Lily frowned at the direction—no, she realized suddenly, at the handwriting. The rubbing Jack had taken of Mr. Finch’s letter to the general had given her a sense of the poor boy’s hand, but seeing his writing in its original form reminded her of something. But, for the life of her, she couldn’t quite remember what.
“For me?” Ofelia’s quavering voice recalled Lily from her thoughts; the girl was reaching toward the letter with a trembling hand. “What does it say?”
“I had planned to call on you at Audley Street tomorrow and ask you to tell me,” Mr. Page said, his voice gentle as he handed the missive over. “I’d no thought of finding you here.” He gave Lily a wry glance. “Though, given Mrs. Adler’s tenacity, perhaps I should have. Will you tell us what it says?”
The young heiress nodded as she slit open the blot of wax and unfolded the letter. She was shaking all over but was so drawn into herself that Lily did not feel she had the right to offer comfort just at the moment. Ofelia, she remembered with a stab of sympathy, had loved Augustus Finch once—and here he was, writing to her from very nearly beyond the grave.
Ofelia cleared her throat and read the letter aloud. “General Alfred Harper, of Park Street, London, has conspired with Mr. Hyrum Lacey, of the shipping firm Lacey and West, to steal from the British Government in a time of war. The general has used his rank and position within the War Office to grant contracts of shipment to Lacey and West, with the private understanding that the goods paid for are not to be fully stocked or delivered. Between them, they split the profits from the bills of sale. If you— ” She cleared her throat again, and her voice trembled as she continued. “If you are reading this, one of them has killed me for this knowledge.” Ofelia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “I love you, Augustus.” She turned to Lily, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Why would he do this?”
“Oh, my dear.” Lily held out her arms and let the girl bury her face against her shoulder, sobbing. “He meant what he said in his letter. If something happened to him, he made sure he wouldn’t be the only person in possession of the facts.”
“I imagine he thought that if he failed to return from his mission of blackmail, the innkeeper would eventually clear out his papers and send the letter on.” Mr. Page’s voice was grim. “Who knows, he might have even intended to see them brought to justice, regardless of whether they paid him or not.”
“Questionable morality, that,” Jack said, but he said it quietly, which Lily was grateful for, so that Ofelia did not hear it over her tears.
It only took a moment more for the girl to gather herself together, though she still hiccupped with emotion as she pulled out her handkerchief and wiped her eyes. “I apologize; I was overcome,” she said quietly. “Mr. Page …” She hesitated; then her jaw firmed and she held out the letter. “Will you see that this is returned to me, after it has served its use as evidence?”
“Of course, ma’am,” he said, and his brisk tone made them all sit up straighter, even Ofelia. “Between this letter and the ledger Mrs. Adler acquired”—his lips twitched with something that was almost a smile—“I think the matter is sewn up pretty tightly.”
“I am pleased to hear it,” Lily said, still watching Ofelia out of the corner of her eye. “But I would be more pleased to know that you intend to do something about it.”
“Oh, I’ll do something about it, sure enough.” Mr. Page’s expression was grim as he stood. “I asked Mr. Harper if his uncle had any visitors last night. Apparently the general was expecting someone to come by about business and had his niece tell the servants not to wait up. Mr. Harper said that was when he thought the burglar was able to sneak in. I’ll admit, I first suspected the nephew—I thought he was spinning quite the story. But Miss Harper confirmed it. And Mr. Harper, I discovered this afternoon, was gambling at his club until six in the morning. Dozens of people saw him. But now I’d say we have a damned good—beg pardon—a good idea who the general was meeting.”
“What happens next?” Ofelia asked, twisting her handkerchief tightly between her hands.
“I give this evidence to a magistrate,” said Mr. Page gently. “And with evidence to tie Lacey to Finch’s murder as well as the general’s, we set about getting justice for your friend. He’ll be arrested before morning, assuming he’s not fled.”
“He has not,” Jack said. At their surprised looks, he shrugged. “Told Jem to keep watch as soon as he brought news of the general’s murder. He would have sent word if Lacey tried to leave London. No need to look so surprised,” he added, grinning. “I have been known as a competent strategist from time to time.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Lily murmured, smiling.
“I hope you’ll call your watcher off once Lacey’s in custody,” Mr. Page said. “And Mrs. Adler?” He fixed her with a stern look. “You’ve done a remarkable job, but you mustn’t put yourself in danger any further. This man has killed twice now. You’ll leave the rest of this matter to Bow Street.”
“Hear, hear,” Jack agreed.
Lily nodded. “I would never dream of interfering, Mr. Page.”
He nodded in return before tossing back the rest of his whiskey, but he caught her eye and held it as he set down the glass, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that made her pay attention.
“Ofelia, if the captain pours you something stronger than sherry, will you drink it?” she asked. The girl nodded, still looking shaken, and Lily stood. “I am going to show Mr. Page out.”
“Much obliged,” he said, bowing as he held open the door for her.
Lily waited until they were at the front door. “Is it the other papers?”
He snorted. “You’re a quick study, ma’am.”
Lily took the closely written sheets of paper that he held out to her. “Letters?”
Mr. Page nodded. “I don’t think there’s much in them, but I thought you ought to have a look. You know the rules of your world better than I do. What can you tell me of them?”
“No. Did she write them?” Mr. Page asked bluntly.
“They are not in her hand,” Lily replied, shaking her head. She frowned as she turned to the next sheet. “The style is quite distinctive, but …”
“But odd,” Mr. Page agreed as she trailed off. “If you pressed me, I don’t think I could say for sure if it was written by a man or a woman.”
“Given the lack of signature, if the writer is a woman, I would say she is either quite young or quite married. Otherwise she’d have less need to hide her identity. If it is a man …” Lily found herself trailing off once more as she glanced at the final page. The others she had merely skimmed, but this one began in the middle of a sentence at the top of the paper, and her eyes grew wide as she read it.
… beg you will say nothing of this matter to anyone else. You know me well enough by now—& we have always been so much in sympathy with each other—that you will understand why there is no one else to whom I may confide such a thing—but nor can I keep it to myself any longer. It is dreadful to contemplate and yet, at the same time, I almost find myself admiring the mind that could devise such a clever scheme. Practical as you are, I can almost believe you would feel the same!
Lily looked up. “You think this was how Mr. Finch got his information.”
“It is a possibility.” Mr. Page spoke cautiously, but there was a gleam of certainty in his eye that was unmistakable.
“And the rest of the letter is missing.” Lily frowned. “If it was his proof, why would Mr. Finch not have put the whole letter aside for safekeeping?”
“You saw the body, Mrs. Adler. Do you recall seeing anything on the ground beside it?”
Lily stared at him, trying to picture that awful night. Her mind had been racing with horror and panic, but she had forced herself to stay calm as she looked around and saw … “Paper. Scraps of paper, ripped up and trod into the mud.” Another memory intruded, one that she hadn’t stopped to think about before. “I think I heard the man who was being blackmailed ask, ‘Who wrote this?’”
“Did you?” Mr. Page nodded in satisfaction. “Then I would hazard that Mr. Finch brought the incriminating letter as proof of his seriousness, and the murderer, rather than risk it falling into someone else’s hands, simply destroyed it then and there.”
“A careless way to destroy something,” Lily pointed out.
“But effective for someone in a panic with no time to spare.”
Lily nodded, but her mind was already moving past that detail. “But then who wrote the letters?” she asked. “I had assumed Mr. Finch learned of the scheme when the general visited Nevis. But it seems someone else knew.”
Mr. Page frowned as he took the papers back. “A puzzle, that. You said it was not your friend, but she might have some idea who else Mr. Finch knew in London.”
Lily nodded, glancing back at the parlor door. “I shall keep my ears open, but I won’t press her just yet. The poor thing has gone through enough these past weeks.” She gave Mr. Page a quick glance. “They were engaged once.”
He nodded. “I suspected something like that. In which case, she may not know anything. If these were written by a woman …”
“He would hardly tell her that,” Lily said quietly.
“Just so.” The constable scowled at the letters, then tucked them into his coat with a sigh. “Well, whoever the writer was may not matter once we have Lacey. I won’t keep you from your friends any longer, or they’ll begin to wonder what we’re talking about out here.”
“They likely already are,” Lily said, holding out her hand. “Thank you for hearing me out, Mr. Page. I am sincerely glad that you came to yell at me in the general’s study.”
“Mrs. Adler.” He took her hand and bowed over it, smiling wryly. “I am, too. And I hope that after this, you will be able to spend your evenings doing only the sorts of things frivolous young widows do.”
Lily watched the door close behind him, a thoughtful expression on her face. “But that sounds so very dull,” she murmured to herself as she went to rejoin her friends.
* * *
The letter from Mr. Page came the next morning.
Lacey is arrested, it read. He will remain at Newgate in whatever comfort his ill-gotten gains can purchase & will be brought to the Assizes after an inquest into the general’s death.
It should have made her relieved. But Lily, with nothing more to do, felt restless.
In an effort to distract herself, she called on Serena, but the butler told her at the door that Lady Walter was indisposed and seeing no one that day. He unbent enough to assure her that the viscountess was, in fact, unwell, and he had been instructed to admit no one.
Though Lily was glad to know Serena was not turning her away specifically, she still felt out of sorts with their quarrel unresolved. Returning home, she began and abandoned three letters, let a pot of tea grow cold, badgered Anna about new sleeves for one of her dresses, and finally found herself cataloging the books in Freddy’s library for lack of anything else to keep her attention. She was wondering if she should get rid of the two volumes of James Fordyce’s Sermons to Young Women when Carstairs came in to ask if she was at home to visitors.
Glad of the distraction, Lily immediately replied in the affirmative, only to find herself handed Isobel Harper’s card. Her stomach lurched, but she dusted off her hands, gave her hair a quick pat, and went into the drawing room.
“Miss Harper! What brings you here?”
Miss Harper looked pale. “I needed … I had to see someone, Mrs. Adler, and I felt sure that you would understand. Mr. Page of Bow Street came to see us this morning.” She glanced at Lily. “I believe you know Mr. Page?”
“He came to investigate that dreadful affair at Lord and Lady Walter’s.” Lily hesitated, wondering how much it was safe to say, before adding, “He seemed a competent man. I trust he had some news for you and your brother?”
“Ah.” Miss Harper’s face was unreadable, and she lifted her handkerchief to dab at her eyes, further obscuring her expression. “It was as good as such news can be. It seems—” Her voice caught. “It seems they have made an arrest in the matter of my uncle’s murder.”
Lily hoped her expression gave nothing away as she said, “What a relief that must have been. Please, sit down and tell me what happened. If you wish to, of course.”
Miss Harper sat, but her gaze beneath her lashes was unexpectedly sharp. “I shan’t be coy, Mrs. Adler, and I beg you will not be either. From what Mr. Page let fall, I gather that the murderer’s arrest was not solely the result of Bow Street’s efforts.”
It took Lily a moment to decide how to respond. “I am sure that the Bow Street gentlemen did everything they could to find the man who killed your uncle.”
“But they generally do not move so quickly, especially for as little incentive as my brother offered them.” Miss Harper’s voice grew sharper. “Nor do they generally spend several minutes in conference with ladies of quality who have paid me a visit of condolence but delayed leaving the house when they said they would.” Lily’s eyes widened, and Miss Harper looked down. “My dresser saw you leave and told me of it. I can hardly be anything but grateful, Mrs. Adler. Will you not tell me how you came to be such a benefactor to my family?”
“You’ve a shrewd mind, Miss Harper,” Lily said, stalling while deciding how to respond.
Miss Harper smiled sadly, inclining her head to acknowledge the compliment. “It was one of the few traits my uncle and I shared. If you do not wish to tell me, I understand. But … my brother and I owe you more than we can repay. I should at least like to know the extent of your efforts on our behalf.”
Lily hesitated, feeling both uncomfortable and flattered. In that moment, as Miss Harper raised the handkerchief to dab at her cheeks once more, Lily caught t
he watchful expression in the other woman’s eyes. Miss Harper’s tense posture, Lily realized, had nothing to do with either gratitude or grief.
Lily’s jaw firmed. “You asked me not to be coy, Miss Harper, so I shall be blunt instead. You are not here to express your gratitude.”
The handkerchief dropped abruptly. “I—I beg your pardon?”
“No.” Lily raised a brow. “You are here to learn what I know of your uncle’s business and how likely I am to reveal that information.”
Miss Harper’s hands trembled. “My uncle’s business?”
“Not the army, of course, but the affairs of a more secretive nature that he engaged in with Mr. Hyrum Lacey.” Lily paused. “I trust it was Mr. Lacey they arrested?”
“It was.” Miss Harper’s voice was faint.
“And did he confess?”
“No. Not to murder, nor to—” Miss Harper broke off, eyes narrowing. “Nor to the business he engaged in with my uncle.”
“The treasonous mishandling of English goods, to the detriment of the war effort?”
Lily said the statement so baldly that Isobel flinched, the motion knocking her reticule from her lap and spilling its contents. Flustered, she bent to gather her purse and letters; Lily retrieved the silver vinaigrette that had tumbled under her own seat.
“What were we saying?” Miss Harper asked faintly as they resumed their seats.
Lily kept her voice more gentle this time. “We were discussing treason, Miss Harper. I don’t wonder that you flinch at it.”
Miss Harper’s nod was jerky. “Just so. Apparently Mr. Lacey refuses to say anything, but the police have their evidence. The inquest is this afternoon, and likely the case will go to trial.”
Lily sighed. “It will be a dreadful business for your family, and I am sorry for it. But justice will prevail, and we can hope the scandal blows over quickly.”
“It is just that which concerns me. You seem to know a great deal about my family’s affairs, Mrs. Adler, and you must understand how that racks my nerves.”