Murder Most Fair

by Anna Lee Huber

  My shock at this pronouncement must have been more obvious than I realized, for Abbott turned to look at me in query. I responded with a strained smile, lowering my voice even further so as not to be overheard. “But I thought the inquiry had been shut down for lack of and conflicting evidence?”

  “It was.”

  “Then why would the report be sealed?”

  “I don’t have the answer to that now. But we agree it’s suspicious.”

  And by “we,” I knew she meant she and C.

  “We’re looking into it,” she added in a suppressed tone, which let me know that someone was in the room with her, and she was not at liberty to speak freely.

  “Do you know when the file was sealed? I was under the impression that a mutual friend had gained access to it recently.”

  She would understand I was referring to Alec, as he had been my handler, but I wasn’t certain how much he had shared with C, and by consequence, her.

  “I don’t know that either. Although, our friend sometimes uses his own sources.”

  I’d figured as much. And with Alec out of reach, on assignment in Ireland, there was no way to gain access to those sources ourselves.

  “I’ll telephone if I have more information.”

  I didn’t miss that tiny “if,” which was a very different conjunction than “when,” but it wasn’t as if I could object. If C couldn’t gain access to that file, then I wouldn’t be able to do so on my own. And without examining its contents, I wasn’t certain how we would ever uncover the identity of the officer Williams claimed he saw leave General Bishop’s temporary HQ moments before it exploded.

  CHAPTER 24

  I thanked Kathleen and rung off, staring broodingly up at the Francis Nicholson landscape hanging on the wall over the bureau.

  “Was that Rosalind?”

  I turned toward Sidney as he reached the bottom of the stairs, knowing that my taut features must have made the answer to this question obvious. But rather than speak openly, where any of the staff might hear, I ushered him into the billiards room, closing both doors behind us.

  He leaned against the billiards table, listening intently as I explained in a low voice what Kathleen had informed me.

  When I’d finished, his expression was as forbidding as mine. “You know not just anyone has the power to restrict access to a file in the War Office. I hate to say it, because until now we’ve had little reason to suspect him, but this has the whiff of Ardmore about it.”

  “Yes, and I’m no more pleased about it than you are,” I retorted, lest he think otherwise. I paced away several steps before whirling back around to demand, “How is it possible that the man has his fingers in so many pies, and yet no one beyond us suspects he has underhanded intentions?”

  “Because he’s cultivated the right friends, all of whom are greedy, ambitious men, and he never tries to take the credit or the limelight. In fact, he never attaches his name to anything, if he can avoid it. He’s not even the chess player moving the pieces about the board, but the man seated in the shadows behind the players, coaxing them to move a rook here and a bishop there, and allowing them to believe it’s all their own idea.”

  I was much struck by this analogy, for if our suspicions about his endgame were correct, then the chess players were Britain and Ireland, and Ardmore was attempting to influence them both to some unknown conclusion.

  I planted my hands on my hips, turning to glare out the window at the gloomy courtyard. “If it’s true, if Ardmore is responsible, then he probably didn’t realize I was involved in the matter until Major Scott started pursuing his vendetta against me.” I narrowed my eyes. “And yet he pretended not to know why.”

  “Yes, well, we already knew not to trust him. We should have realized he was much better informed than he let on.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see that Sidney still leaned against the table with his arms crossed over his chest, projecting the bearing of a man perfectly at his ease. But I could sense the roiling of his emotions and the watchfulness of his gaze as it traced my profile.

  “Should we ask Ryde to try to use his connections to have the file unsealed?”

  I turned to look at him, recognizing now the reason behind his sudden intensity. It wasn’t about Ardmore, or my failure to confide in him about Rob. Or rather it was. But it was also wrapped up in the lingering insecurities in our marriage, in the trust we both seemed hesitant to give each other entirely.

  “I’m not sure that would be wise,” I replied, feeling somehow that I was being tested. I just didn’t know precisely how. “Especially since we don’t know for certain what we’re dealing with.” I turned to face him more fully. “Let’s wait to hear if C can bring his influence to bear. There’s nothing we can do about the matter until we return to London anyway.”

  The murmur of voices passing outside the door drew my attention away from his dark stare. One of them was merely Matilda, but it jostled a memory in my brain.

  How many days ago was it that Matilda had accused Bauer of eavesdropping on my and Sidney’s conversation in this very room? I had dismissed Matilda’s accusations as malicious at the time, but now I couldn’t help but wonder if I had been too hasty to defend Bauer. Maybe she had been intentionally listening to us.

  Hadn’t our conversation been about the second deserter, and the potential that they’d followed us in order to blackmail me? And not a day later that note had been left under my pillow. I know what you did. Could it have been left there by Bauer, either of her own accord or at someone’s direction? We’d observed at the time how a servant was likely involved.

  “What are you thinking?” Sidney asked, breaking into my thoughts.

  “Just that I’m beginning to think Fräulein Bauer wasn’t exactly who she seemed.”

  Tim’s voice rang out in the entry hall, greeting Abbott with some sort of anecdote about Tabitha’s behavior on their walk.

  My lips twisted. “Case in point.” Striding to the west-facing door, I yanked it open.

  Tim’s words stopped, and the smile brightening his face withered at the sight of my glaring visage.

  “Tim, may we have a word with you?”

  He looked at Abbott, as if the butler could rescue him from this situation, before replying in a choked voice. “Of course.” He passed off the rest of his things and then slumped into the room. His brown hair stuck up around his head in cowlicks, making him appear more boyish than his twenty-one years.

  Intent on being included, Tabitha slipped through the door before I could close it, her muddy paw prints mussing the floor. Her paws should have been cleaned off before she’d ever entered the house, but as it had fallen to Tim to do so, of course, it hadn’t been done. I opened the door, asking Abbott for a towel, and then hurled it at Tim, not about to do the task for him.

  He knelt, whistling for Tabitha, who obediently lifted each paw for him to rub. “How was the inquest?” he asked in a taut voice.

  “About as expected,” I replied, waiting until he rose to his feet to put the question to him I most wanted to know.

  He nodded. “Then they don’t know who . . .”

  “Fräulein Bauer was seen leaving your chamber several nights past.”

  He stilled at this pronouncement, and color rose in his cheeks.

  I sidled a step closer, scrutinizing his features. “Were you sleeping with her?”

  His expression underwent a paroxysm of tiny movements as he fired back with multiple denials. “What? Of course not. Why would I do such a thing? How can you think that of me?”

  Unfortunately for him, I had always been able to tell when he was lying. For one, he wasn’t very good at it, usually overdoing it with protestations of his innocence, as he was now. For another, his left eyebrow twitched, a spasm he had obviously still not been able to gain control of.

  I had elected to wait out his display of offense, but apparently Sidney was of a different mind.

  “Cut line, Tim. You’re a rot
ten liar.” He had straightened from his slouch and now turned to face my brother as he growled, “You did sleep with her.”

  Tim lifted his hands as if to ward him off. “She came to me.”

  “In your room?” I quizzed doubtfully. I would not have expected such boldness from the maid.

  “Well, no. In the courtyard. I . . . I was smoking, and she came out of the servants’ quarters. But I don’t think she saw me, not at first, because she started crying.” He spread his hands, pleading with us. “I couldn’t see her like that and just walk away.”

  “And so you . . . comforted her?”

  He scowled at the scornful tone of my voice. “Not like that. Not at first. But she looked so sad, so alone, and . . . and she is”—he seemed to choke on the word—“was . . . a dashed pretty girl.”

  “And so . . . what? One thing led to another?”

  “More or less.”

  I glowered at my brother in disapproval, though my ferocity couldn’t match Sidney’s. For a moment I wondered if he was going to box my brother’s ears.

  “You took advantage, Timothy,” I snapped. “She was sad and alone, and surrounded by people hostile to her because of her nationality. She deserved our protection, not your dubious attentions.”

  The fight abruptly went out of him, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “I know,” he groaned. “I knew it when I first let myself kiss her. I should have stopped myself then. I nearly did. But she seemed to want me to. I certainly didn’t force her up to my room or . . . or into my bed.”

  “That doesn’t excuse it,” I retorted, though I was relieved to hear that at least it sounded as if Bauer had participated willingly.

  “I know. You’re right.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Afterward, I felt so guilty I lay there for hours just letting her talk. It seemed the least I could do.”

  I exchanged a glance with Sidney, my interest heightened. “She talked to you for hours?”

  “Well, I don’t know precisely how long, but it seemed like hours.”

  I sneered at this typical male complaint. “What did she say? What did she talk about?”

  Tim eyed me warily, seeming alarmed by my interest. “Her . . . her family mostly. What they had been like. How she missed them.”

  “Did she tell you where she was from?”

  “Berlin.”

  “Talk, Tim,” I ordered, tired of these drips of information. “Tell us everything you remember. It could be important.”

  “Well, I think I understood most of what she said,” he stammered. “But my German isn’t as good as yours.”

  The way he fidgeted and the manner in which his gaze kept darting between me and Sidney as if we might pounce made me realize we were unnerving him. Perhaps even overwhelming him. Recognizing this as a sign of shell shock, I pressed a hand to Sidney’s arm, urging him to take a step back with me so that we were no longer crowding Tim. Then I spoke again in a calmer voice. “Just tell us what you could comprehend.”

  He nodded, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “She said she’d had a brother and a sister, both younger. They and their mother died from the influenza late last year. She said they had been weak to begin with, from . . . from lack of food. That she’d been surprised she’d survived.” Tim’s expression was bleak, and I understood why. I felt the same yawning sense of dismay in the pit of my stomach knowing how terrible conditions had been in many parts of war-torn Europe. How terrible they still were.

  “Her father had served in the German Army, but she didn’t know what had become of him. She said that they’d had no word of him since his last leave. When the war ended, and he still hadn’t come home, she said she’d realized he must be dead. And so she set out to look for work.”

  “But she was from Berlin. She couldn’t find any work there?” I asked in confusion.

  “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t listen carefully to what she said about that. All I know is that she eventually found herself in Monschau.” Over four hundred miles away. “And was grateful Tante Ilse took her on.”

  I nodded. “Go on. She didn’t have any other family, then?”

  He tilted his head. “She mentioned a cousin—Kurt—but I gathered he’d also been in the army and she didn’t know what had become of him.” His face scrunched up, trying to recall. “Or she did know, and then she lost him. I’m sorry. I think she must have used some words I didn’t translate properly.”

  I struggled to stifle my frustration, realizing most of this wasn’t in the least helpful to our current predicament. She sounded like a lonely orphan, far from everything and everyone familiar, just as she’d seemed. And yet, something was nagging at me. Something I couldn’t quite place.

  “Was there anything she said that you found either surprising or interesting?” Sidney asked, perhaps sensing my growing agitation. “Anything out of place?”

  Tim sank down on the edge of a leather armchair, staring at the rug before him. Either sensing his distress or simply eager to be petted, Tabitha followed, butting her head against his hands where they dangled between his legs. Almost unconsciously, he began to scratch her ears as he shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. Although . . .” His eyes lifted to me in query. “She did seem to have a lot of questions about Verity.”

  I met his searching gaze levelly.

  “What kind of questions?” Sidney prodded with a glance at me.

  “About what kind of person she was, and what she did during the war.”

  Tim’s expression turned thoughtful, as if he was just now giving these topics due consideration. It made me wonder how he’d answered them when she asked them. Or whether he wasn’t being entirely truthful and instead was trying to pass the blame and focus to me, as he’d done to me and Freddy at dinner a week ago.

  Sidney’s tone was wry, making me suspect he harbored the same suspicion. “Did you ask why she was so interested in your sister?”

  He shrugged. “I figured she hoped Ver would hire her.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, because hiring a lady’s maid who’s slept with one’s brother is ideal.”

  He flinched.

  “Then you slept with her just the once?”

  A fiery blush of red crested his cheekbones. “Well . . . just the one night.”

  I closed my eyes against this excessive bit of information, before opening them to glare at him. “Tim, you are a cad.”

  “I suppose I am,” he admitted. “But for heaven’s sake, I wasn’t going to marry the girl. The situation wasn’t that dire. And clearly the girl was searching for some fairy-tale prince. Which I am not. The way she carried on about her parents’ marriage, how her father was such a gallant soldier. How he called her mother his snow fairy. Honestly, it was enough to make one sick.”

  I had begun to turn away, disgusted by my own brother’s callousness, but these last few statements made my head whip around again. “Wait! What did you say?”

  Tim stared at me dumbstruck for a moment. “What did I say? About . . . ?”

  “What did her father call her mother?”

  His gaze slid to my husband, plainly asking him if I’d lost my mind. “His snow fairy?”

  I pressed my hand to my forehead as a horrifying realization washed over me. “Good heavens! I think I know who she is.”

  Whirling around, I charged from the room, only to collide with Freddy.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” I gasped, turning to hurry away.

  But Freddy grabbed hold of my arm, hindering me. “Verity, I need to speak with you,” he bit out.

  “Yes, of course. But first, I must . . .”

  “Now!” he barked.

  It was then that I realized what a towering fury he was in. My oldest brother had always had a temper, but rarely had I seen him as worked up as this. His face was bright red, his eyes nearly protruding from their sockets, and the veins stood out from his forehead.

  Rather than wait for my reply, he turned on his heel and marched into
the drawing room, expecting me to follow. When I moved forward to do so, Sidney—who had followed me from the billiards room—walked in step with me, seeming hesitant to leave me alone with his friend when he was in such a state. But I shook my head, deterring him. I wasn’t afraid of my brother. In any case, the last thing this moment needed was Sidney and Freddy breaking into fisticuffs over me. Especially when I suspected I already knew what Freddy was so furious about.

  Having witnessed my and Sidney’s brief unspoken exchange, Freddy nodded at his friend, seeming to promise he would not resort to violence, and then shut the door firmly. “What did you say to Rachel?” he demanded.

  I clasped my hands before me and forced myself to meet his gaze without wavering. “I wanted her to know that your pacing and rambling about the countryside at odd hours was because of the war, not anything she or Ruth had done.”

  He whirled away, striding toward the hearth and back, his hand clutching the back of his neck.

  “I was merely trying to help.”

  “Well, no one asked you to,” he roared as he turned to face me, making me jump. “My marriage is not yours to meddle in, Verity. Do you know what you’ve done?” He turned away as if he couldn’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Rachel thinks I’ve been talking about her now. Complaining about her to my long-lost sister, who only now remembered that her family exists.”

  I felt as if he’d just slapped me across the face. “That’s not fair, Freddy.”

  “No.” He turned back to me, laughing humorlessly. “No, it’s not, Pip.”

  Tears rushed into my eyes.

  “Sure, you telephone, you write letters, but you can’t be bothered to come see us. Why is that, Ver? Why?”

  “I . . . I . . .” I couldn’t speak beyond the lump gathering in my throat, the bubble of pain pressing on my chest.

  “Too important?” he sneered derisively.

  I shook my head, horrified that he should think that, and stumbled forward a step. “That’s not it.”

  “Then what?”

  My face felt hot, my insides quavered, and I feared I might be sick all over the rug.