Death by the Book

by Deering, Julianna

  She lifted her head, looking about in bewilderment before settling on him. “Mr. Farthering. Oh, excuse me, I . . . I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  She sat up straighter, smoothing her hair and straightening the collar of her blouse.

  Drew removed his hat. “Forgive my coming unannounced, but I was hoping we might have another little chat.”

  “Of course. Anytime. I haven’t properly thanked you for letting me stay here.” Her face was faintly pink, but whether that was from sleep or embarrassment, he didn’t know. “I guess I’ve needed time to think some things over, and this has been the perfect place for that.”

  “I’m glad you’ve found it of help.” He glanced at the empty end of the bench she sat on. “May I?”

  “Please, sit. I take it this is more than a social call.”

  He bowed his head in acknowledgment as he sat beside her. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you some rather difficult questions. Please believe me, I mean no disrespect by them.”

  The color in her face deepened. “All right.”

  “First off, I’d like to know where you were between nine thirty and ten last night?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Just here. Why?”

  “Alone?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve heard about the incident that took place at the cottage on my estate last night?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t heard anything. You’re the first person I’ve seen to talk to in two days. Has someone else been . . . ?” She bit her lip. “There’s been another murder, hasn’t there?”

  He nodded. “Chap called Freddie Bell. American. Did you know him?”

  “No. I never heard of him.”

  “I also found out something regarding one of the earlier murders. About Corneau.”

  Her eyes widened, almost imperceptibly. He’d definitely touched on something with that.

  “Dr. Corneau?”

  “Yes. If you recall, Chief Inspector Birdsong asked if you had ever gone to him. You claimed you hadn’t.”

  “That’s right.” She worried the already worn corner of her book. “I don’t have a usual doctor.”

  “But things weren’t exactly usual for you then, were they?”

  She pressed her lips together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Someone saw you there.” He knew that Corneau’s nurse had only thought she might have seen the girl there, but it was worth a try. “Would you like to tell me why? Or shall I tell you?”

  Tears filled her eyes, and she refused to look at him. “Obviously, you already know why. Very well, yes, I did go there. Only the one time. And I didn’t kill him.”

  “Did you tell anyone? About the baby?”

  She shook her head fiercely, making her dark hair bob around her.

  “Not Mr. Montford?”

  Something flickered in her eyes. “No. Why would I? Mr. Montford knew nothing about it.”

  “I told her, by the way. Mrs. Montford. I told her what you asked me to.”

  “Did she believe you? Please tell me she did. I can’t stand the thought that what we did might make her doubt her husband loved her.”

  “Oh, yes, she believed me,” Drew said. “She never believed anything else.” She seemed rather relieved by that. “And you told no one else about the child? Not your friend from the flat next to yours?”

  Again the girl shook her head. Again she would not meet his eyes.

  “Miss Allen.” He waited until she finally looked up. “Did you kill Dr. Corneau?”

  “No. I swear I didn’t.”

  He hated to press her, but he had no choice. “Have you killed anyone?”

  The tears in her eyes finally spilled down her pink cheeks, and she looked away again, one hand covering her decidedly flat stomach. “I swear I haven’t killed any of those people you’ve been asking about.”

  “I’m sorry to have upset you,” he said, getting to his feet. And he was sorry, sorry he’d phrased the question so stupidly. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”

  She shook her head again.

  There was no need to confirm the nurse’s assumptions about what the girl had done after visiting Dr. Corneau’s office. The pain and regret was plain on her face. Drew wished he somehow knew what to say to her. She obviously needed comfort and absolution, and for that he knew of only one source.

  “I hope you’ll remember what we talked about before,” he added gently.

  “The sermon?”

  “It’s as good a place to start as any.”

  He passed her his pocket handkerchief, and she buried her face in it. He didn’t know what to do but leave her with her thoughts and, he hoped, prayers. But he turned back again, wondering why he had never before thought to ask.

  “One last thing, Miss Allen. You said you first met Mr. Montford when he came into your shop to buy a present for his son. Do you happen to recall what that was?”

  She lifted her head, blinking at him, brow furrowed. “I, uh . . . It was a set of toy soldiers, I believe.”

  He nodded and, with a tip of his hat, got into his car and drove away.

  By the time Drew reached the hallowed premises of Whyland, Montford, Clifton and Russ, it was after hours. But Russ, expecting him after their telephone conversation, let him in the back way, leading him past empty offices until they got to a rather large, fustily decorated one. Russ settled himself behind the oversized desk, with a file marked Montford, Daniel lying on it.

  Drew turned the file to face himself but didn’t open it. “He’ll be watched, you know.”

  Russ merely smirked and gestured toward a chair. “Of course he will. But I don’t think the inspector believes Daniel killed his father. He just hasn’t got a better suspect at the moment, and he’s certainly not going to let this one fly out of his grasp. No doubt as soon as Daniel was released, he arranged to put a man or two on the Montford house.”

  “Are you surprised? That Daniel was seeing a married woman?”

  Russ shrugged. “Not uncommon, I suppose.”

  “But would you have thought it of him?”

  “Didn’t know him that well, to be honest. I mean, I’d known his father since before the boy was born, but apart from a word here or there or an occasional visit to the office, I never heard that much about Daniel.”

  “That’s odd. Mr. Montford always seemed quite a proud father.”

  “Oh, I daresay he was, but I suppose I never paid all that much mind to it. Sounds rather boorish of me, I know, but other men’s children, well, they’re not all that interesting, eh?”

  “I suppose a businessman has other things on his mind. What about Montford himself? Did you talk much outside of office matters?”

  “Not all that much, perhaps went for a drink here and there. We got on well, to be sure, but we weren’t that chummy. Not on a personal level.”

  Drew glanced at the framed picture on the desk. It showed Russ seated beside a stylish-looking dark-haired woman and flanked by a tall girl in her early teens and a little boy holding a stuffed duck.

  “Your family?”

  “Yes.”

  Drew smiled. “Very handsome group.”

  “Thank you.”

  Drew said nothing more for the time being. He was comfortable with the silence, but would Russ be?

  Russ fumbled with his cigarette case, tapping the edge of it on the desk before at last opening it. “Is there something I can do for you, Mr. Farthering?” He selected a cigarette and then lit it, discarding the match afterward with a practiced flick of the wrist. “I presume it’s more about Montford.”

  “Yes, if it’s not too much of an imposition, I have just a few more questions.”

  “If you like, though I really don’t have much else to say about the matter. I’ve told the police and I’ve told you everything that’s pertinent to the case.”

  “Oh, quite. Quite. I was hoping, though, that between the two of us, we could make some headway
on it.”

  “I’ll be happy to answer any questions you might have, but I doubt I know anything that would be of use to you. Cigarette?”

  Drew waved away the proffered silver case. “Perhaps there’s something you haven’t thought to mention.”

  “For example?”

  “Oh, I don’t know. For example, what you know about Miss Allen?”

  Russ half choked on his cigarette smoke. “What?”

  “Miss Allen. Margaret. Meggie, I believe she’s called. The one from the investigation. Do you know her?”

  “Oh. Oh, yes, the girl Montford was seeing. That was a terrible thing to get into the newspapers, especially for Mrs. Montford. Shocking business, that. Does she claim to know me?”

  Drew smiled. “I asked first.”

  Russ studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed and piercing. “All right. I don’t suppose there’s any use in denying it. Yes, I knew Miss Allen. Knew of her, at any rate.”

  “She was seen at Montford’s hotel. Had been seen there several times before over the past few months. But you knew why he went to Winchester all along, didn’t you, Mr. Russ?”

  Russ crushed out his cigarette in the green marble ashtray. “He was going there to break it off. I don’t know what he told the girl beforehand, but that’s what he was planning to do.”

  “And why did he tell you this? You said the two of you were never really personal friends.”

  “I . . .” Russ ground his already extinguished cigarette into ash. “I had found out about her. Quite by accident, but found out all the same. I told him, man to man, that it was madness, utter madness, to ruin himself and perhaps the firm over a tawdry passion such as this one. He had a fine wife and a son to be proud of. No need to ruin them, as well.”

  “And he agreed?”

  “He did. He said he would break with the girl at once. That’s the last I knew of it.”

  “I see.”

  “Frankly I don’t know how he could face her after everything, poor child as she was. I don’t think I could have looked her in the eye. Seems she was quite smitten.”

  “Do you think so? A girl like that and a man his age?” Drew chuckled, watching the other man’s eyes. “I suppose he liked to think so, anyway.”

  Russ looked him up and down, smiling more to himself than at Drew. “You young pups. You think that’s all women want, do you? Empty-headed, vulgar little boys who think they’re God’s gift wrapped in gold foil? Perhaps some girls do, quite likely most of them do, but no doubt some prefer a man with poise and experience, a distinguished man who knows how to treat them properly.”

  “And this Miss Allen was like that?”

  “Oh, yes.” Russ stopped and again smiled faintly. “From what Montford told me, yes, she was.”

  Drew smiled back at him and then picked up the photograph of his family. “Your little boy, how old is he?”

  “He turned eight this spring.”

  “I suppose he likes you to bring him things? Toys and games and such.”

  Russ relaxed a little. “Oh, yes. He’s a lively child, to say the least.”

  “And what did you bring him for his birthday in March? Something from Hirsch’s, wasn’t it? Toy soldiers perhaps?”

  Russ swore. He didn’t raise his voice, but he repeated the oath a number of times before dropping into his chair and closing his eyes. “How long have you known?”

  Drew shrugged. “I’ve wondered. Haven’t known.”

  “This will ruin me. Good heavens, this will ruin me.”

  “Perhaps I should be going.”

  Drew started to get up, but Russ held him there, a look of desperation on his face.

  “No. Wait. Hear me out.” He took a couple of unsteady breaths. “You have to understand. Someone has to understand. I can’t hold it in any longer.”

  Drew waited, but Russ didn’t say anything more. He only sat puffing his cigarette and blinking hard.

  “How did Montford figure into it?” Drew asked finally.

  Russ passed one trembling hand over his brow. “He accidentally opened a letter of mine. From her. It was put in his box at the office by mistake.” He smiled, his thin mustache twitching fitfully. “He was quite understanding about it. Said he’d help me if I wanted out. Before Edith found out. Before I’d spoilt everything. I knew he was right. Meggie—Miss Allen—she’s a fine girl. I won’t hear a word said against her, but the whole tawdry affair was already beginning to pall. The last few times, well, I met her because I didn’t know how to break off with her.”

  “So Montford agreed to tell her for you?” What a coward the man was. “That’s why the room was in his name only that once.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you kill him?”

  Russ’s pale eyes widened, and then the color rushed back into his face. “No.” He shoved his chair back, making it screech against the polished floor as he got to his feet again. “No, I absolutely did not kill him. I did not.”

  “Did she?”

  “God forgive me.” Russ’s voice dropped to a bare whisper. “I don’t know.”

  “Would you have thought she could? I mean, was she the type?”

  “Heavens, no. I take it you’ve met her. She’s just an ordinary little shopgirl. Tears are likely the only weapon she has at hand, and I daresay she would have bravely held those in check.”

  “And whose idea was it? Saying she’d been involved with Montford instead of you?”

  Russ had the grace to look ashamed. “Mine. He was dead. I didn’t think it would matter at that point.”

  The wretched coward.

  “No. I can see that. How could it matter to anyone?” Drew smiled. “I mean, anyone but Mrs. Montford and young Daniel. No doubt the firm is tainted either way.”

  Russ glared at him, his eyes red-rimmed. “Must you twist the knife? I didn’t set out to hurt anyone. It just . . . just happened.”

  “Oh, certainly. One day you’re walking down the street, and the next you’re blaming your unfaithfulness on an innocent dead man.” One side of Drew’s mouth twitched into a smirk. “Happens all the time.”

  “All right! All right! Must you torment me? I hope to God you never take a false step!”

  Drew looked away, the brittle smugness inside him crumbling just slightly. Even Christ himself hadn’t condemned the woman discovered in the act of adultery. Who was Drew Farthering to be casting stones? Certainly he’d taken his own share of false steps.

  His expression softened. “All right, fair enough,” Drew said. “There’s none of us without fault. Sounds as if you at least tried to make things right. Before Montford was killed, anyway.”

  Russ sat down again, his head in his hands. “I swear I hadn’t thought it all through. I didn’t think of his family. I couldn’t think of anything but keeping what I’d done out of the papers.” The words were half choked. “Away from my wife.”

  Drew was silent for a moment, waiting for the man to pull the shreds of his dignity back around himself.

  “Anything else of importance you haven’t yet mentioned?” he asked finally.

  Looking drained but calmer, Russ took another cigarette from his case and lit it. “Not that I can think of at the moment, no. I suppose this will all have to come out?”

  “Perhaps it needn’t be as bad as you think, so long as we can clear Montford of any scandal. His family deserves as much, don’t you think?”

  “Yes. Of course. I suppose this . . . this part of it will have to come out.”

  “I don’t know. If it does, it won’t be from me. Not so long as that’s the end of your involvement with it. You should probably tell the chief inspector what you told me. As you advised Daniel.”

  “I didn’t kill Montford, I tell you. I may be a coward and an adulterer, but I’m no murderer.”

  “Did you know she was pregnant? Miss Allen?”

  Russ gaped at him, unable to do more than blink stupidly. “I . . . Pregnant?”

  “The Dr.
Corneau who was murdered, she went to see him about it. She never told you?”

  “No, never. I would have . . . I mean, naturally, I would have seen to everything for her.”

  “Corneau wasn’t that sort of doctor.”

  Russ glared at him, and then he looked up at the ceiling and took a deep, steadying puff on his cigarette. “I suppose we can arrange a quiet adoption. If she’s determined to keep it, I’ll see they’re both cared for. I can’t be personally involved, of course.”

  “That’s terribly gracious of you, but you needn’t trouble yourself. It seems likely she’s already seen to things on her own.”

  Russ eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

  Drew gave him only a vague shrug. There was no reason to tell him about the confessions of Dr. Corneau’s nurse or his conversation with Miss Allen.

  “Well, then there’s nothing more to be done.” Russ tapped the ash from the end of his cigarette. “Bad business, but there’s no changing it now. It would have been absolute ruin for me if she had kept it. Surely you can see that. My wife . . .” He looked up at Drew and then dropped his gaze to some spot near his shoes. “I’m not concerned for myself, you understand.”

  “No, obviously.”

  “But my wife, she’d never get over it. My children . . .” He glanced at Drew again, looking as though he was about to be sick. “You do understand how it is. These things happen, really no one’s fault, and sometimes they go bad. I’ll send some money along to the girl. No doubt a new start will do her a world of good.”

  Drew let him finish and then stood and took his hat from the corner of the desk. “I’d best be going. If you have anything else to say concerning the case, I’d be obliged if you’d let me know. You have my card.”

  “Yes. Yes, certainly.”

  Drew was glad for the long drive home and the clean wind in his face.

  Seventeen

  The lights of Farthering Place were a welcome sight that evening. Drew had spent the drive from London trying to concentrate on the facts of the case and mostly ending up thinking uncharitable thoughts about Charles Russ and then reminding himself of his own failings. It would be good to get away from the tawdriness of Russ’s affairs, from the whole case in general, for an hour or two. He pulled up to the house with just enough time to dress for dinner.