A Hanging at Lotus Hall

by Corrina Lawson

  The list implied that her mother had also been targeted. In her case, not directly, because she was not killed, but whoever had taught Rachel Krieger the spell to create the golem had sealed her doom. And, even before that, the golem had preyed on Krieger & Sims’s noble customers, some of them mages. Perhaps her mother’s magical “mentor” had hoped for those deaths as well.

  Joan stood in the sunbeam from the windows and absorbed the heat, emptying her mind of the rage, of the sheer helplessness that threatened to overcome her. All those deaths, her mother’s death, and Cooper’s murder, and no one, she thought, had done anything to stop them. No one had known to stop them.

  She slipped Cooper’s list and hers into her pockets. Now they knew, now whoever it was could be stopped. She would find Cooper’s killer. She’d find out why Edward Dale had written the list.

  The charitable conclusion would be that he’d stumbled across the pattern and had gathered evidence, and it had somehow ended up in Cooper’s hands.

  Had Cooper confronted Dale about it? They could have quarreled. Or Cooper would have been the investigator and confronted Dale as the villain.

  No, Dale had just returned to England. How could he have killed anyone while in Nepal?

  Except, perhaps, Dale’s story of survival was just that, a story, and he’d been lurking in London for almost a decade. But why return home now? If Vai was playing a game with Dale, pretending to befriend him while investigating him, it was a dangerous, even deadly, one.

  “The walls have eyes,” Vai had said, while saying there was much Joan did not yet understand. That understanding must happen, and tonight.

  And what was Reg’s place in all this? He had been after something in Cooper’s rooms. He could be an agent of the killer.

  “Ah, there you are, Miss Krieger! I thought you might be in the library. I’m pleased to know my guess was correct.”

  Mr. Moriarty stepped into the room, his hands clasped behind his back. Joan came to full alert instantly.

  Most people were killed by someone close to them. That, she knew well. Moriarty fit the description of the killer too.

  “I found myself in need of quiet and contemplation, such as only can be found in a library,” she said.

  “And this is certainly one of the finest libraries. Bennington has allowed me the use of it on several occasions, leaving me with a working knowledge of its volumes. Can I help you find something, Miss Krieger?”

  A killer. “I hoped to find mental inspiration, Mr. Moriarty, and some measure of calm. You know how important this is for a mage.” She sat down in the chair she’d been using, the picture of composure. “You are looking better than this morning.”

  He nodded. “I’ve regained my wits somewhat but…”

  “But emotional equilibrium is hard to come by,” she supplied.

  “Yes.” He walked to the far corner and pointed at the shelves just above the chair rail. “I find reading of past lives helps to put my own in order.” He took down a volume. “For instance, these are from the current duke’s father. He was a meticulous recordkeeper, I’m told.”

  Forget the rest of the books. Joan wanted those diaries now, especially if they offered clues to the mystery surrounding Edward Dale.

  Ah, focus. Sew up the problem at hand first. She must not let Moriarty catch her unaware. He could be probing. Why was he here?

  “Perhaps when this is all over, I’ll be interested. Have you read them, Mr. Moriarty?” she asked.

  “Not these, no. I’ve been more interested in the overall history of the house. I admit to a fascination with architecture and buildings.” He set the volume on the desk nearest to her. “In case you need it.”

  Grief flashed over his face again.

  “Sir?”

  “Sorry. I was remembering that Cooper shared my enthusiasm about designing the new dormitory at the Isca School.”

  That might explain the blueprints in Cooper’s room but not why he’d hidden them.

  “I’m sorry. His death is a loss for everyone,” Joan said.

  Moriarty grimaced. “More than you know.”

  Now Moriarty was hinting at secrets. More probing. “Did you and Mr. Cooper ever discover anything interesting in the history of the house in your readings?” Such as the magic of the paintings of the Himalayas?

  “No. I’d hoped to uncover how magic is imbued into the very fabric of Lotus Hall, but that secret is held tight by the family.”

  “Perhaps it’s simply a result of their natural ability.”

  “Perhaps.” Moriarty frowned. “It would benefit the school to have something similar, but His Grace is afraid of misuse.”

  “You do have a spell on the gargoyles that watch over the dormitory, sir. And I’m told you have baffles that store mage energy, at least the energy not converted to mage coal.”

  “Ah, but that’s a simple dampening spell and the baffles are inefficient. What’s here works far better. But the Sherringfords keep their secrets, don’t they?” A deep sigh.

  “Every family does.” What did he truly want? “You came to me, Mr. Moriarty and I suspect it wasn’t to discuss research.”

  “As to the point as you were the other day in my office. Very good, Miss Krieger.”

  “I don’t need a pat on the head,” she said. “I need the truth.”

  “I wish to speak with you about the other matter than concerns us.”

  “I’m no more in a position to give you an answer about teaching today than I was two days ago.” She paused. “Even less of a position, as solving this murder will take precedence. The result of the investigation may also impact my decision.”

  “Unfortunate, because I’m even more impressed with you than yesterday,” he said. “I watched you slide in front of little Lady Anne when she came into the library this morning. Were you truly ready to protect her from her father’s anger?”

  He’d been full of grief (supposedly) and yet he’d still noticed that. “It was an overwrought situation.” Joan chose her words carefully. She and Moriarty were alone. Anyone in this house could be dangerous. “You also helped calm the duke and his daughter.”

  “I have experience with children.” He deflected the compliment. “You’d have stood up to the duke, if needed. Not many are willing to oppose him, especially in his own house.”

  She stayed silent, to let him speak further.

  “You possess kindness and a keen sense of justice, Miss Krieger. It’s why I feel you should know some things, as they may be pertinent to the case. The duke wasn’t certain you should know, but I can make up my own mind as to that.”

  He might be trying to turn her against the duke. Or he might be earnest in warning her about a problem with the family. “What should I know, Mr. Moriarty?”

  “His Grace invited Cooper and me to his home to discuss the Mage Reform Act, yes, but also to discuss a family problem in secret.” He sat in a chair opposite her, his legs crossed, almost imperious.

  “Which is?”

  “You must know there is some mystery concerning Mr. Dale’s reappearance in the land of the living?”

  She placed her hands on her lap. The duke had summoned Moriarty and Cooper for help—and not his brother Gregor, the consulting detective? Perhaps, if she believed Moriarty.

  “Yes, I’m aware of the situation,” she said.

  “Your discretion does you credit, but I will say what you won’t: the dowager duchess left for India and effectively vanished for several months. No letters, no sign of her on any continent in the British Empire that the duke’s agents could find. He was quite frantic for a while. He cares, well, cared for his stepmother.”

  Joan nodded. “I’m aware the dowager duchess kept the search for her husband’s last expedition secret.”

  “True, as far as it goes. Since you are close with Lord Gregor, you must also know that the dowager duchess and Mr. Edward Dale arrived in Lotus Hall without warning, without luggage, and without an explanation for simply, well, appearin
g out of thin air.”

  That fact troubled Gregor as well. Moriarty was well informed.

  “What do you make of that, Mr. Moriarty?” she asked.

  He settled deeper into his “throne.” “I didn’t know what to make of it, any more than the duke. He was glad the dowager duchess was home, especially with his wife so near her time. The two women are close. He’s been less enthralled with the arrival of Edward Dale. Or, at least, the man who is supposed to be Edward Dale.”

  Joan came to full alert. “You suspect an imposter?”

  “The duke suspects an imposter. As did Cooper. He knew Edward Dale well through work with the Metaphysical Society. Dale was something of a teacher to him. Yet, this man supposed to be Edward Dale hides from his family and his old friends. He quarrels with his own daughter. He is reported dead and, now, a decade after that, he appears again out of nowhere.”

  “Trauma can change a man.” Joan laid her hands in her lap. “Do you have any facts to support your imposter theory?”

  “I did not, neither did the duke, but then, neither did the dowager duchess and Mr. Dale have any basis for their claims save their words.” He focused on her again, as he had during the interview, marshaling his power in an attempt to read her. It begged the question of whether he’d wanted to tell her this or if he wanted to watch her reaction while he told her this.

  “This frustrating lack of facts is why the duke wanted me here to confront the dowager duchess and demand the truth.”

  “Why did the duke not ask help of his brother, Lord Nicholas, who was in residence, or his younger brother, the investigator, since it’s a family matter?”

  “First, because Lord Gregor is hardly going to be objective about his mother. Second, to be blunt again, he does not fully trust Lord Nicholas. The duke’s younger brother is not a proper heir.”

  So Moriarty knew or guessed about Nick’s relationships with men. But the brothers’ relationship must have soured greatly if the duke preferred Moriarty’s help over his brothers’.

  Or Moriarty wanted her to believe that of the duke.

  “I see,” she said.

  “You’ve had difficulties with your own family. I thought you might understand the difficulties in this one. In any case, I spent last night with the duke, anticipating a confrontation with Edward Dale that would be difficult but, nevertheless, necessary. We needed answers. I expected Cooper to join us at some point. He never did. And now Cooper is dead, killed by a mage.”

  “You’re accusing the dowager duchess of murder?” Joan’s words came out sharp and angry, as her surprise slipped out.

  “I’m pointing out that the night before her stepson was prepared to demand the disclosure of secrets from her and Mr. Dale, Mr. Cooper was murdered. And now, we must delay that confrontation. But I don’t suspect the woman. I suspect the man. Edward Dale.”

  Dale had written the list they’d found in Cooper’s room. Vai had evaded questions about Mr. Dale.

  If Moriarty knew this, he might go public with it. Unless the duke stopped him.

  “What does the duke think of all this?” she asked.

  Moriarty frowned. “He’s too concerned for his wife’s health just now to do anything. He also trusts his brother Gregor will uncover the truth, but…I’m not sure he’s right to do so, given the dowager duchess’s attachment to Mr. Dale.”

  “And what do you expect me to do with this information, Mr. Moriarty? Certainly, I’m not an objective person where Gregor Sherringford is concerned.” For Moriarty had an agenda in dumping this information in her lap, that was certain. One does not get to be head of the Isca School or the Metaphysical Society without playing politics.

  “I expect you to be careful with your own safety, Miss Krieger. Cooper’s murder proves something dangerous lurks in Lotus Hall. Mr. Dale is in deep. The dowager duchess and Lord Nicholas could also be involved. Perhaps even Lord Gregor.”

  The others, perhaps, but not Gregor. And yet Gregor had kept the secret about Dale’s handwriting from her.

  “I’m always careful with my own safety,” Joan said. “And simply because someone is hiding a secret doesn’t make them a killer. As you’re aware, Colonel Moran arrested my father, who was certainly hiding a secret, but he was a victim, not a killer.”

  “But his secret unraveled the magic that destroyed your family, Miss Krieger.”

  No, she had done that, by bringing Gregor into the case.

  “This is a disquieting home, Miss Krieger. Nothing is at it seems.”

  “On that, I agree, Mr. Moriarty, given there is likely a murderer about.” How solid was his alibi? Solid enough, unless the duke recanted. “Tell me, then, suppose Mr. Dale or even the dowager duchess did this horrible thing—what motive would they have to fake a hanging, something sure to cause a scandal and bring attention to Lotus Hall? A heart attack might have been unusual, but if the body had not been found so soon, all evidence of a murder would have vanished.”

  Moriarty threw up his hands. “I admit, that baffles me. But you are the detective, are you not?” He stood. “You’re stepping into a world you know little about, Miss Krieger. Take care it does not drown you.”

  And, with that, he bowed and left the library.

  Chapter 16

  All this was speculation. Moriarty’s accusations could not be proven, nor was it clear why Edward Dale wrote the list that she’d found in Cooper’s rooms. He could have been investigating, or he could be a killer.

  Everyone she’d spoken to in this house could be a liar. Including her lover.

  Joan’s fury and frustration needed a tangible target.

  She chose Reginald Benedict.

  The one fact she knew for certain was that Reg had searched Cooper’s rooms. Therefore, she would search his. Though when Agnes appeared at her elbow as she left the library, Joan had another problem.

  No, she decided. Not a problem. She had implicit authority to explore Lotus Hall and investigate the murder. That meant she had a full right to search Reg’s rooms. Maybe it would be better if Reg heard about it too. See what he did next.

  Or, if the duke objected, she could damn him along with the rest of his inscrutable family, up to and including Gregor.

  When Gregor had investigated Krieger & Sims, no one had been off-limits. Yet now he seemed to be protecting his mother and Edward Dale. Anger lent force to her footsteps. She had to consciously avoid stomping.

  Agnes was silent until they stopped at the landing to the floor where Reg’s rooms were located.

  “Miss, this isn’t your floor.”

  “I know. I’m going to Mr. Benedict’s rooms.”

  “Oh.”

  Joan stopped in the middle of a hallway, a door on either side.

  “Which one is his?” she asked.

  “That one.” Agnes pointed to their left. “Ma’am, can I ask why? Is it part of the investigation?”

  “Absolutely, you can ask. But I can’t tell you why.” Joan twisted the knob on the door to the left. Locked. Not for long. Joan closed her eyes and let her gift flow through her fingers and into the lock mechanism. This time, when she twisted the handle, the door opened easily.

  “Do you want me to…help?” Agnes said.

  Joan smiled and shook her head. “No, I should do this alone. It could be dangerous.”

  Agnes smoothed down her skirt. “If it’s all the same to you, miss, I’d rather help. I hate to sit around and do nothing.”

  Joan took a long look at the woman. Agnes was in her mid-twenties. Though the maid’s attire did little to flatter her, the blonde hair tucked under her cap was full and curly. Her face wasn’t classically beautiful but neither was it plain. But it was her hazel eyes that showcased the intelligence inside.

  “How long have you been in service at Lotus Hall?” Joan asked.

  “Since I was fourteen, ma’am.” She smiled. “My older sister gave me a recommendation. She’s not here anymore—she married and settled in the town with her husband. I was pr
omoted to her place, as a lady’s maid, to help with visitors and to back up the maids who serve the duchesses.”

  Milverton had categorically said he’d detected no mage gift in the servants he’d encountered at Lotus Hall, and that included Agnes. But…trust no one, at least not completely. Still, Agnes was already here.

  “Wait in the hallway, then, and warn me if Mr. Benedict is coming,” Joan said. That seemed a good compromise.

  “Absolutely, miss!” Agnes nodded.

  Joan slipped inside the room. As with all the other guest areas at Lotus Hall that she’d seen, this one had an outer sitting room leading to a bedroom. Unlike the other rooms, this one smelled of cigarette smoke. She sniffed the curtains. Reg had resided in the rooms long enough for his cigarette smoke to have permeated the cloth. Some poor cleaning woman would have a devil of a time getting that smell out.

  The desk, the same design as the one in Cooper’s room, had no papers on top. Joan rifled through the drawers. She found a steamer ticket, presumably the one Reg had used to travel to England, a signed copy of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court by Mark Twain, and two unframed photos, one of a young Reginald presumably surrounded by his mother, father, and siblings, and a newer one, taken on board the ship, of Reg and Nick at sea.

  In the bottom drawer was a family Bible, or so it seemed. Joan pulled it out and found, instead of pages, a hollowed-out square that contained a pistol similar to the one in her possession.

  She thought of taking the desk apart, as Gregor had taken Cooper’s desk apart, but decided to save that for last. In the bedroom, she found the bed made, but that meant nothing, given how efficient the housekeepers tended to be.

  But the mechanism of the autoclothe that contained Reg’s clothes discharged not shoes from the bottom, but a box containing a pair of Colt revolvers. Joan drew one out, felt the weight of it, and sighted down the long barrel.