“He has no other heirs. No children.”
The thought stabbed her. After three years of marriage, she had suspected that she might be barren. Now there was the certainty that she would have no children. It had not mattered so much before, but now the thought gave her pain.
“And what was the age difference between you and your late husband?”
“Twenty-four years.”
“That’s a large age difference.”
It was not terribly unusual, she thought, especially among the upper classes where young women were routinely married off to older men to acquire titles, fortunes or to solidify social connections. The inspector knew this.
“It is not unheard of. He was a friend of my father’s. He and I have known each other for many years.”
“And you knew he was wealthy when you married?”
“Naturally.”
“And from what I understand, you came from a lower class family. Some sort of financial ruin?”
For an instant, she remembered revealing to him that she had not always been wealthy, but she had said nothing of financial ruin. But then she understood. Of course the police had spoken with Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes. And had either of them lied or said that she came to the union with money, the police would have discovered the falsehood with little trouble. All of the Aynesworths most likely knew of her origins also.
Constable Bell leaned forward. “A younger woman marries a wealthy older man. He dies under mysterious circumstances, leaving her with a handsome inheritance. It just seems strange is all.” He was watching her with too much intensity, his lips parted in anticipation. She would not give him what he sought.
“And what question are you asking me?” she kept her voice low.
“Doesn’t that sound strange to you?” The constable tilted his head slightly. The gesture infuriated her but she kept her face composed.
He was at least five years her junior. He couldn’t have been on the police force very long, and with three recent murders, it would be quite the feather in his cap to aid in the capture of a killer. But he was over-eager and jumping to conclusions.
“Do you think you will marry again, Mrs. Sullivan?” he asked.
She turned her body to face to the inspector, where before she had been facing both men. It was a slight not lost on the constable, who scowled.
“Are you asking me questions to gather information or are the local police now in the habit of making baseless accusations about bereaved women?”
“My apologies, Mrs. Sullivan,” said Inspector Lockton. He gave the constable a long silent look that made him sit back.
“Inspector, my husband was murdered. Josephine was murdered. Someone gave them Destroying Angels and they died horribly. I did not add the mushrooms, but someone did and you need to find this person, not waste time with me.”
“We are doing our best to do exactly that. Now, tell me about the soup.”
She did. She described Ambrose’s sickness, the soup, her search through Ambrose’s books, and her discussion with Doctor Michaels.
“That soup sat there all Sunday afternoon, simmering on the stove. At least, that’s what Mrs. Block told me,” she said.
“Yes,” said the inspector. “Everyone agrees on that point. Please tell me where you were Saturday. You came to visit me, but the household says that you were out of the house most of the day.”
She felt her face grow warm. “I went to look for the hound in the tin mine that I told you about. He wasn’t there. And when I left, I saw the woman named Maggie who lives nearby. I spent some time at her house, and then returned home.”
“Mad Maggie?” said Constable Bell. “You went to visit her? She sells a few things that could kill a man if he took too much.”
“But not Destroying Angels,” said Inspector Lockton. “Now, you say that you went to search for the hound? Why?”
“I’m sorry, but I had to go straight there after I saw you. Your assurances that I could get the hound after the police examined it were not enough. I know that you cannot guarantee that I would have the opportunity to examine it before it was destroyed, so I hoped to find it on my own. I’m sorry.”
The inspector nodded and made a note. “Did you do anything else when you were out on the moor?”
“What do you mean?”
“Did you collect poisonous mushrooms while you were out? I have to ask.”
“Of course not. I don’t even know what they look like. But apparently everyone else who lives around here does. My maid and I may be the only ones who are unable to identify a Destroying Angel.” She gave them a pointed look.
“But your husband was a naturalist. He would have known. He could have told you.”
“But he didn’t. He had no cause to.”
“The doctor said that you and the youngest son were looking through your husband’s books when he was ill. That there was a book on mushrooms.”
“Yes, there was a mycology book. But I looked at it after Ambrose was already sick.”
But there was no way she could prove it. The book had been sitting in Ambrose’s temporary study since they arrived. She had access to it at any time. And she had the time to collect mushrooms on the moor, save them until she could give them to her husband, watch him die and inherit his fortune.
“Just a moment,” she said. “What happened to the rest of the pot of soup after Ambrose and Josephine ate from it? Surely they did not finish all of it.”
“Mrs. Block said it vanished. The killer must have come back to empty it out.”
Chapter 39
Chloe looked past the men and out the window at the sound of approaching hooves. Giles, who was still sitting on the windowsill, tipped his head, watching. Ian dismounted his horse and handed the reins to the waiting groom. He was unshaven with dark shadows under his eyes and he looked exhausted and a little wild. She thought back and realized that she had not seen him at all since they had taken Josephine to Doctor Fleming’s house.
“That’s the oldest son?” Inspector Lockton asked the constable.
“Yes.”
“You don’t know the family?” Chloe asked.
“I was called in from Exeter for the Granger murder.”
Of course. A town like Farnbridge would not require its own inspector. She thought of his office, with no name on the door. So Lockton was a stranger here too.
The front door banged and Alexander took off outside toward his brother. Ian turned to him with a dark look, full of hatred, anticipation and a kind of pleasure. Alexander shoved his reddened face into his brother’s and said words Chloe could not make out.
“Someone should stop them,” she said. She looked from the constable to the inspector. “They’re going to hurt one another.” Neither of them made any move.
Alexander was shouting something at his brother while Ian stood tall and still, his fingers slowly flexing and unflexing. Chloe got the impression of a sleek black jungle cat, waiting for the right moment to spring. The inspector and constable had moved closer to the window and showed no indication of intervening. She rushed out the front door but froze on the bottom step.
“You say another word, and I swear, I’ll kill you,” said Alexander.
“More killing, brother? I thought you might have had enough of that by now.”
“I haven’t hurt anyone.”
“No? Deborah Walker is dead as is her daughter. Both of them erased, just as you wished.”
“That wasn’t my fault. I never did a thing to either of them.”
“And there it is,” said Ian. “Perhaps you should have done something for them.”
“For that tart? I wasn’t the first to soil her. What, did you expect me to marry her?”
“No, but you left her to make her living on the street and raise her daughter—your daughter—in a boarding house.”
Alexander raised his hands in a gesture of indifference and took a step back. “What’s it to me where she went? And who knows if the child was ev
en mine? It’s only the word of a loose woman.”
“Don’t call her that,” Ian’s voice was very soft, almost gentle.
“Why not? Did you love her? Were you jealous that I got there first, brother?”
“Don’t be an imbecile. I felt sorry for her.”
“But that’s not why you helped her. Oh, but I know why.” A mocking smile curved Alexander’s mouth.
Ian did not answer.
“I’ve seen how it is with you two, don’t think I haven’t. I’m not the idiot playboy you take me for.”
Alexander turned as if to go and then spun around to punch his brother. In one fluid movement, Ian grabbed his wrist, twisted it and with his other hand, struck his brother in the jaw. Ian released him and Alexander reeled backwards. Ian had a look of pure pleasure.
“Father isn’t here to help you, you worthless animal,” Ian said in a smooth voice. “You never should have been born. You have brought nothing but pain and suffering your entire life. I would be doing the world a favor to remove you from existence.”
“You’re mad.”
“Am I? But you are the one who killed Uncle, are you not? He knew about your irresponsibility and your gross indiscretions.”
“What reason would I have for that? The girl was already here, the letters were already in the hands of the police. My life was already ruined because of you.”
“Because of me? I did my best to clean up your messes. And you were right. It was never for your sake, you feckless arse.”
Alexander charged him and got in one good punch to Ian’s mouth. Ian touched his lip, looked at his fingers and smiled.
“There we go, now. First blood.”
Ian leapt forward and punched Alexander in the face so hard that Chloe heard a dense, muffled crunching sound. Alexander shouted. Ian did not even pause, but kept punching and hitting until he was straddling his brother on the ground. The whole thing had only taken moments.
“Stop it now!” yelled Chloe and ran toward them.
Ian was methodically pounding his brother’s face and had gotten in a few good hits, but Alexander twisted and threw him off. The men scuffled in the dirt, grunting and thrashing.
In a moment, Constable Bell was there and he pulled Alexander in one direction while Inspector Lockton pulled Ian in the other. Alexander was shouting curses, but Ian wore a satisfied smirk as he watched his brother. Alexander’s nose and mouth were bleeding. Even his teeth were covered in blood. As for Ian, the area around his eye was turning red.
Dora and William were yelling nearby while Robert stood watching from the doorstep.
“I swear to God, I will kill you,” said Alexander as he looked up from the blood on his handkerchief.
“Please. Do try.”
“Stop this!” cried Dora. “Just stop it! You leave him alone,” she said to Ian who gave her a cold look.
After awhile, Dora and Robert escorted Alexander into the house to tend his nose. Someone would most likely be sent to fetch a carriage. Doctor Fleming would certainly be getting his fill of the Aynesworth family.
The constable and inspector were speaking with William in the doorway. Ian had walked a little way down the drive, and he glanced toward the side of the house. Beatrice was half hidden in the building’s shadow. Her hands were at her sides and though tears streaked down her cheeks, she did not seem aware of them. She was watching her brother-in-law.
He took a look at the front of the house and then walked toward Beatrice. He stood before her for a moment in the shadows before she crumpled into his chest. He slowly, very slowly, placed his hand on her back.
“The girl was Alexander’s?” Inspector Lockton appeared beside Chloe.
She blinked and turned to him. “Oh, I believe so. Ian pretended that she was his child to spare Beatrice from shame. At least, I think that’s what happened.”
“Who else knows this?”
“Everyone now, I suppose.”
“Did Mrs. Aynesworth know that the child was her husband’s when the girl came?”
Her stomach turned cold. It was impossible. Beatrice would never harm anyone. Besides, she could not have anticipated that the girl would eat the soup. “I believe she had an idea, but you would have to ask her yourself.”
“I don’t believe Mrs. Aynesworth set out to harm the girl, if that is what you are thinking. From what I understand, your husband was the target and the girl’s death was an unfortunate coincidence.”
“Sadly, the killer can only hang once for both of them.”
They walked together back into the house. Constable Bell held the door and followed them into the front parlor where they took their seats. Well, that was a bit of excitement. The inspector flipped through his notebook.
“Is there any reason why someone would want your husband dead?” asked Inspector Lockton. “Ian said that your husband knew about Alexander’s illegitimate daughter. Is that true?”
She didn’t know what Ambrose knew, not really. It gave her a pang to know that he had kept secrets, even if she had kept some herself. “I don’t think he knew. Or if he did, he did not share it with me.”
There was a silence. Inspector Lockton turned to Constable Bell. “Would you please check on the family? I want to make sure the brothers do not do more violence to each other. And if everything is calmed down, please ask the elder Mr. Aynesworth to come speak with me.”
The constable left and Inspector Lockton shut his notebook and tossed it onto the table between them. He rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“Tell me, who do you think killed your husband?”
“What did he know that would cause someone to murder him, you mean? If I knew that, the killer would be in your custody already.” She adjusted herself in her seat and sighed. “Ambrose was about to talk to Mr. Baxter about some business arrangements and everyone knew it. Something about investments and publishing my husband’s work in Boston. But there was no danger of him telling Mr. Baxter anything damaging to the family or endangering Dora’s impending nuptials. Others already knew about Josephine, so there was no cause to silence Ambrose. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“No, it doesn’t,” said the inspector.
There was only one thing that did make sense, she thought bitterly. A young woman marrying an older man, poisoning him and inheriting his fortune.
The constable returned, along with William.
“Mr. Aynesworth,” said Inspector Lockton, rising. “I am going to post a guard at your house. Constable Bell and another officer will be remaining here for the rest of the day. Other officers will come tonight to relieve them. No one, not even a servant, may leave the premises without notifying Constable Bell or his replacement. They will be keeping a log.”
“What are you on about? We are not prisoners in our own home,” said William.
“No, you are not prisoners, but someone in this house killed Ambrose Sullivan and Josephine Walker. Until we know who it is, we cannot risk the perpetrator escaping.” He stepped through the parlor door and pulled his coat from the doorway mechanical. William followed him.
“Everyone down to the bootboy or scullery maid who needs to leave for any reason will notify Constable Bell,” the inspector said. “And anyone who has necessary business in town must be accompanied by a constable.”
“We are being held under guard? You must be joking. Are you saying that if we want to go anywhere at all, we have to ask permission from your people?”
“That is precisely what I am saying. And please, Mr. Aynesworth, think of it as a security guard.”
Chapter 40
At last, Chloe was alone. After holding the door open for Giles, she sat down in Ambrose’s old room. She had considered going to her own rooms, but that made locating her too easy. After Alexander had left for the doctor, the chaos had died down and she found herself able to slip away unnoticed.
All of Ambrose’s personal belongings were gone except for a few books and pages of notes which had all been collected together
into one lonely pile. The bed had been stripped and remade and the room had been aired out. It was an empty guest room once more.
The door to Ambrose’s dressing room had been left ajar and Giles darted inside. Chloe opened the door to find that Mr. Frick had already packed up all of her husband’s clothing. A moment later, she was startled by the familiar scent of Ambrose’s shaving soap. She stood without moving, wanting both to stay and to leave.
Miss Haynes opened the door that connected her room to her husband’s and stopped short just as she was about to gather the books and notes from the table.
“There you are. Were you looking for something?” Miss Haynes said.
“I just came here for some quiet. It’s mad downstairs.”
“All the servants are talking about it. How are you feeling?”
“I’m all right.” She turned to the cat. “Come, Giles.” The cat obeyed and she closed the dressing room door.
“When you have some time, Mr. Frick needs to see you,” said Miss Haynes. “He has been in the study most of the morning. I’m helping him pack up a few things.” She picked up the items on the table.
So much for solitude. Chloe crossed the hall and found Mr. Frick setting sample slides into their cases. From the way he turned and squinted at them, it appeared that he was arranging them in alphabetical order. The accompanying microscope case was closed and set on top of other boxes. He took one slide to the window and held it at arm’s length, then adjusted the distance, trying to read it.
“I can take care of those,” said Chloe.
Mr. Frick nodded and she finished up the slides. She had to make sure that Mr. Frick had a comfortable per annum amount to support himself once they returned home. He had been an experienced older valet when Ambrose had hired him decades ago. It would not be fair to ask someone of his years to find new employment. She would have to check with Ambrose’s solicitor to see if Ambrose had made any arrangement for him, and if not, she would see to it herself.
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