“Of course,” Godfrey said.
“I suppose you will insist on accompanying her,” Atkins said.
“But naturally, she’ll need my support. After all, that’s why I’m here.”
Atkins’s expression said he wasn’t fooled in the least.
In the end both she and Godfrey were allowed to stay while Atkins interviewed Gwen.
Gwen was surprisingly calm as Atkins asked her about her asthma, the drugs she took, where they were kept when they were not in use. She answered succinctly and calmly, reaffirming what Godfrey had told them in the sitting room.
She really didn’t need Phil for support: Gwen Pratt was a remarkably strong woman despite her breathing difficulties.
Several minutes into the interview the door opened and this time, Luther Pratt strode through the door.
“I must insist—”
“Very well,” Atkins said with resignation in his voice. “Come in. We’re finished here for the moment. I am confiscating the remainder of the Datura powders.” He turned to Gwen. “Do not use any medication that hasn’t been locked securely. Can you manage or would you prefer to return to the city?”
“I’ll be fine, Detective Sergeant,” Gwen said. “The young people have so looked forward to the balloon ascension. It’s only a day.”
Only a day, thought Phil and knew Atkins was thinking the same thing.
“When you return, do not take any medication that was left behind. Order a new supply of everything. I’ll confiscate any unused applications when I return to the city.”
“You think there’s more?” asked Luther.
“It is a possibility.”
“But I just gave her a vial of atropine. Good Lord. Gwen?”
“Luther, my dear. I’m fine. It must have been a dreadful mistake. I’ve used this prescription many times before and it did no harm.”
“How many times?” Atkins asked. “The box here has only two doses missing.”
“Oh, that is a new batch, I believe, let me see. Oh yes, it came the day after … Agnes’s party.”
And Perry Fauks’s murder, Phil thought.
“You’re certain of that?”
Gwen’s brows knit.
But Phil remembered. “When I visited that day, Vincent Wynn-Taylor had just come in. He said that he’d been to the pharmacy and had picked up your medicine. I saw him hand it to Elva.”
“I’ve used it since and it didn’t have this effect.”
“They might not all be tainted,” Atkins said. “It could have been selective and left to be used anytime. A ticking time bomb, if you will.”
“But why?” Gwen asked.
“That way the killer wouldn’t have to be present when the fatal dose was taken.”
“That’s diabolical,” Luther said.
“Yes, it is,” Atkins said. “Now I want to talk to Vincent Wynn-Taylor.”
Wynn-Taylor was not as good a witness as Gwen. He seemed nervous and when Atkins told him about the poison, he cried, “Oh my God, oh my God. I picked it up from the pharmacy. It’s my fault.”
Atkins sat and listened and looked perturbed when Godfrey finally said, “No, my boy. Not your responsibility. How were you to know?”
After that he calmed down, and Atkins veered into another line of questioning that he hadn’t been allowed to conduct after the first murder.
Godfrey didn’t stop him. He seemed to have acquiesced to the idea that he needed Atkins to see them clear.
“You were at the ball that night?”
“Yes, I was invited. I’m not a servant, but a man of business.”
“And did you have occasion to see Mr. Fauks—outside of the ballroom?”
“I don’t remember. It was a crush, we must have passed a number of times during the evening.” He thought back, his eyes rolling up in the way people did when they were thinking. It was a habit Phil had broken herself of years before.
Wynn-Taylor shook his head. “Maybe in passing in the hallway. Nothing that stands out. Oh, he was at the other end of the table at supper. No, nothing.”
“Did you see any altercations between Perry and anyone?”
He hesitated, just long enough to make Phil wonder.
“I did happen … no, it was nothing.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Atkins said. “You were saying.”
Vincent cast a look at Godfrey.
“Go ahead, Vincent. Anything you say here will be in confidence.”
The detective sergeant’s eyes flashed but his expression remained even. He was very good at hiding his feelings. But he was clearly displeased with Godfrey’s interference.
“I did overhear something, earlier in the evening. I don’t know if it’s important. I had gone to fetch something for Mrs. Pratt. They were in the study. I wouldn’t have stopped but…”
“Yes, what did you overhear?”
“An argument. Or at least loud voices. I wouldn’t mention it but…”
Again the look toward Godfrey. “Mr. Pratt and Mr. Jeffrey.”
Pratt and Jeffrey?
“It was about money matters. I-I shouldn’t be saying this. I’m sure it has nothing to do with Perry’s death, but—”
“Go ahead, Vincent,” Godfrey said.
“Well, sir. Mr. Jeffrey was asking for money again. Only this time Mr. Pratt said no. And that he, Mr. Jeffrey, needed to start living within his means, and, well, it isn’t the first time. I was about to ease away, when Mr. Jeffrey said that Fauks had ruined him.”
“He was speaking of Perry Fauks?”
“I just assumed that, but … then he blamed Mr. Pratt for his troubles. Which is a damn lie. Mr. Pratt has been nothing but kind and generous to the man. I wouldn’t say anything normally, but it just goes beyond the pale. Mr. Pratt has been more than generous because of Mrs. Jeffery being Mrs. Pratt’s sister. And everyone knows it was you who got him his position in the department because of your friendship with the Pratts.”
Oh really, thought Phil. She’d half expected an accusation of murder. She relaxed.
“Then he did say something strange.”
Phil perked up again. So did Godfrey and Atkins.
“That he was going to confront Mr. Sheffield that very night.”
“Sheffield? Not Fauks?”
“Yes. Mr. Pratt told him not to be a damn fool, and he’d throw him out for good if he disrupted Agnes’s debut. But that couldn’t have anything to do with this.”
“Anything else?” Atkins asked.
“No, nothing.”
“Then thank you, you may go.”
Vincent practically fled the room.
“Well, Lady Dunbridge?” Atkins said.
“What?” Was he actually asking her opinion?
“Sheffield,” she said. “Good heavens. We’ve forgotten all about Sheffield. Godfrey, we have to tell him.”
“Tell me what?” Atkins asked.
“He’s hiding in the cottage by the lake.”
23
Atkins turned on Godfrey. “You knew about this? You’ve been harboring a possible murderer. Where is he?”
Godfrey’s lips tightened. He seemed to deliberate. Then said, “This way, Detective Sergeant.” He preceded them into the hallway. “Coats, Tillis,” he ordered.
Atkins was still wearing his, but the butler appeared immediately, holding two coats almost as if he’d anticipated them.
When he helped Phil into hers, she expected Atkins to say something, but he seemed to have given up getting rid of her.
Enfin, she thought. Maybe he would finally begin to accept her help.
Godfrey led them through the house and out the side door to the walkway that would take them into the woods and to the cottage. He walked quickly, not waiting to see if they followed, and for a moment Phil wondered if he was trying to get ahead of them to warn Sheffield.
But when they got to the steps where the walk ended and a smaller path led into the woods, he stopped. “The fog is still heavy in
places, please follow me closely.”
They went single file, Atkins insisting that Phil go ahead of him, which was chivalrous, she hoped, but probably more utilitarian to keep her within reach.
They soon came to the cottage. The lights were out even though it was getting dark. Atkins stepped abreast of Godfrey and held out his arm. Shook his head.
It all looked rather slow motion in the fog.
Godfrey came to stand by Phil, and Atkins motioned them back. He reached into his coat and pulled out a rather large revolver.
Godfrey started forward, but Phil grabbed his arm, shook her head.
Atkins turned the knob and, standing well to the side of the doorframe, pushed the door open, waited for four of Phil’s pounding heartbeats, then went inside.
Phil and Godfrey stood rooted to the spot. No gun reports, no sounds of scuffling.
Still they didn’t move.
The glow of a lamp filled the doorway.
Dreading what she might see, Phil let Godfrey lead the way. He peered inside then ushered her through the doorway. It was empty. Atkins was just coming out of the back rooms. Shook his head.
Isaac Sheffield was gone. The papers he’d piled on the desk, the briefcase, all gone. The only thing that lingered was the faint aroma of a pipe tobacco she knew all too well.
Atkins ran past them and out the door.
“Detective Atkins, come back, it’s easy to get lost in the fog.” Godfrey followed Atkins out.
Phil ran to the door, looked to her left, where the men had gone. She couldn’t see either of them.
Just like men. She’d probably have to go rescue both of them.
They appeared at her right like two lost phantoms and went back into the cabin, leaving her on the stoop like a servant.
She followed them inside.
“Do you know where he is?” Atkins demanded.
“No. He asked if he could stay here while attempting to recover funds that had been stolen from his company.”
Atkins shot a look at Phil. “I suppose you knew about this, too.”
“Only because I followed Godfrey.” She lifted her chin. She had no intention of letting him scold her like she was some naughty schoolgirl. “Which I might add, it’s a good thing I did. Or you might not know about him being here at all.”
“Look, Atkins, you can’t think that Sheffield killed Perry. He’s completely loyal to the company and the family. He’s been moving heaven and earth to save it.”
“You said that. Save it from what?”
“Perry stole funds to invest in some scheme. Evidently he lost everything. At least, Isaac hasn’t been able to find the money. I don’t know how many people have lost their investment or if it can be reclaimed. Fauks stock has already plummeted. If the company fails, it will inevitably start another panic. I don’t know that the economy can handle another blow this soon. Discretion is imperative.”
“My job is not the economy.” Atkins’s features stood out starkly in the lamplight. “Bringing criminals to trial is. And right now I have the murders of two people on my hands. Hands that have been tied, I might add, from the outset. I’ve been thwarted at every turn. I don’t know whether that was your doing or Mr. Pratt’s. But because of that, another murder has occurred.”
“Now see here.” Godfrey held up his hand. “Isaac Sheffield is not a murderer, but if you need to call out a full-scale search for him, go ahead.”
Phil piped in before the men could come to cuffs. “I wouldn’t bother, if I were you, Detective Sergeant.”
“What do you know about it?”
“Not much, but I have a good idea that Isaac Sheffield did not run.”
“Then where the hell is he?”
“I believe he’s been kidnapped.”
Both men stared at her.
“Lady Dunbridge, really,” Godfrey said.
Atkins eyed her speculatively. “What do you mean by kidnapped? Who kidnapped him? And why?”
“I mean kidnapped and I don’t know why or by whom.”
“Then how on earth do you know?”
Phil had no idea what to tell him. She knew she couldn’t tell him what she really suspected. That some other agency was ahead of him. The telltale remnants of Mr. X’s tobacco hadn’t been a mistake. He would never be so careless. He’d left that clue deliberately.
Guiding her toward something. And he’d left it because he wouldn’t be visiting her tonight to tell her in person. He’d taken Sheffield somewhere, probably for questioning. Thwarting Atkins again.
What a mess. Four people, all who wanted to get to the truth, none of them trusting the other, Atkins constrained by his superiors, Godfrey either constrained by his or willing to do whatever he had to do to contain a scandal, Mr. X for whatever reason, and Phil sent here to investigate by some unknown person or agency for some unknown reason.
She couldn’t tell them that. Not only would they laugh themselves silly, they would most likely throw her in the lunatic asylum.
And they were getting nowhere. This was such a stupid way to do business.
“Women’s intuition,” she said finally.
Atkins threw up his hands.
Godfrey smiled. “We can’t argue with that, can we, Detective Sergeant?”
Was he humoring her? She didn’t like the look behind his eyes. She’d supposed until now he had been on their side. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure.
“And as such,” she continued, “I think we should return to the house and … and continue our investigation over a cocktail.”
Atkins’s mouth dropped open, Godfrey did a double take.
She didn’t blame them. They must think she’d gone stark raving mad. Because in that split second she had come to a disappointing conclusion. She would have to solve this murder without them. And to do that she needed to get back to the house.
“My nose is cold, my feet are wet, and my coat weighs two stone. I’m going back to the house.” She didn’t wait for them to acquiesce but strode out of the room. If ever there was a day for split skirts it was today and she’d changed out of hers and into her checked foulard for luncheon instead. It was probably ruined from tromping through the woods.
It was a stupid thing to be thinking at such a crucial moment, but it occupied her mind with something besides murder. And she needed to keep her composure intact and her tongue silent to be most effective.
It had occurred to her more than once that she might be no more than a pawn in some game of powerful men. Fine. She was up to the challenge. She’d carry on whether they liked it or not, with or without them.
She started up the path, her eyes and ears alert for any sound that shouldn’t be there. Something that would tell her that Sheffield and whoever took him were hiding nearby.
All she could hear were her two companions’ footsteps behind her.
Had the others moved out of hearing distance, perhaps even out of the area? They might now be sitting in a comfortable office somewhere grilling their prisoner.
But was Sheffield the murderer? If he had killed Perry why would Godfrey hide him, and given him access to Gwen? Were finances more important than friends and family? To many, they were.
When they reached the house, Godfrey continued inside but Atkins pulled her aside.
“What is going on here?”
“I don’t know.”
“Godfrey is going ahead to have me called off this case. I don’t know why he called me out here in the first place if he was just going to obstruct my progress. And you. I don’t know what game you’re playing but it’s no place for an amateur.”
“Amateur?” She clamped her mouth shut to keep her temper in. She had almost said she was no amateur. But her employer “relied on her discretion” and almost a decade in London society had taught her the importance of discretion when it mattered most.
She did, however, see the need for more study in her future.
“I want you and Lily and Preswick out of here immediately.”
<
br /> “It’s too late to leave. It’s coming on night, too dark to see the roads.”
“Lady Dunbridge, I know you’re trying to help, but you’re out of your depth. Two people are dead. A killer is out there. This is not some game for the amusement of a bored dilettante. And I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“You arrogant—” She broke off. “You care about my safety?”
“Of course I do.” He cleared his throat. “I would for any citizen.”
“I’m not a citizen.”
“Don’t quibble with me. You’re going home.” He took her by the arm and steered her into the house.
“You can’t send me packing—besides you haven’t searched Elva’s room here, have you?”
“I am about to do just that.”
“I’ll help you.”
“Thank you but not necessary.”
“Are you expecting to find clues? Are you conversant with where ladies hide things?”
His eyes narrowed. “Elva was a servant and I’m a policeman—a public servant.”
“Touché,” she said, trying not to show her chagrin.
They moved down the hallway. Fortunately Elva’s body had been removed. By the coroner? Did one live in the area? Or by one of Godfrey’s staff?
Phil’s patience broke. “You need me—you don’t know anything that’s been going on here.”
He slowed, looked around, then yanked her behind the stairs.
She’d been here before and gotten an earful. “This is cozy.”
“What do you know?”
“Let’s see, where shall I start.”
“Don’t push me.”
She didn’t want to push him, she wanted him to cooperate and help her. “I’m perfectly willing to help. Besides discovering Sheffield’s whereabouts, dragging Elva out of a noxious room, finding Mrs. Kidmore-Young, shall I go on? The family is frightened; they will never tell you the truth for fear of naming someone they love. You know that as well as I. But I’ve learned this so far.
“Elva, the latest victim, has been nervous ever since Perry was killed.”
“That’s only natural.”
“Perhaps, but I think there is more to it than that.
“Gwen just today said Elva wanted to talk to her about something that she was worried about. But then Gwen had her attack and they didn’t speak. Now Elva’s dead.
Tell Me No Lies Page 27
