“Please tell me what happened tonight, if you will, Lord Darby.”
“Yes, Superintendent. I was prepared for bed, but by ten fifteen I began to wonder why Crinshaw had not brought my drink. So I told my wife that I was going to see if he was occupied or if he had forgotten.”
“Was he a man to forget things?”
“Not at all, Superintendent! Crinshaw was a very regular man, indeed, in all his duties. That was why I was somewhat surprised.”
“So what did you do then, sir?”
“Well, I put on my robe, and I went downstairs, and Crinshaw was not in the kitchen. Everyone else had gone to bed, so I went on to the butler’s pantry, and I found him there on the floor.”
“Were you certain he was dead?”
Edward moved his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’ve had very little to do with this sort of thing. I bent down, and he was not breathing.”
“Did you check his pulse?”
“No, sir, I did not.”
“And what did you do then, Lord Darby?”
“I roused my coachman, sent him at once for Dr. Newton, and I sent another servant to notify the local police. Dr. Newton has already arrived.”
The questioning went on for some time with Fenton shooting questions very rapidly at Lord Darby. Finally he said, “We will need to see the body, sir.”
“Of course. Nothing has been touched. I left instructions for it to be so.”
“That was very wise, sir,” Fenton said.
Fenton moved forward as Edward Hayden motioned with his hand. “He’s in there, Superintendent.”
Fenton moved inside the pantry, followed closely by Grant. He stooped down beside the body without touching it and seemed to study the face of the dead man. “What do you make of it, Grant?” he asked abruptly.
Grant was on the other side of the body. “I don’t see any marks of violence.” He looked over and said, “It looks as though he had prepared the drink and that he dropped it.” Indeed, a large silver goblet was on the floor. “The drink is spilled, for the most part,” Grant said.
“Look at his face,” Fenton said. “He looks like a man in agony.”
“I think that would be consistent with a bad heart, wouldn’t it?” Sir Edward said. “I know little about such things, but I’ve heard it’s a very agonizing pain.”
Fenton did not answer. His eyes were running around the small room, and he saw the bottle of wine sitting on the table. He went over and asked, “Is this the wine that is used for your potion?”
“Yes, I believe it is,” Edward said, leaning forward to read the label. “Yes, amontillado. That’s it.”
Edward stood back while the two men went over everything in the room, Grant taking copious notes. After a time, Edward said, “Gentlemen, Dr. Newton is here. I’m sure you’d like to see him.”
“I certainly would.” Fenton rose, and Edward asked Rosie to bring Septimus to the kitchen. When they arrived, Fenton saw two people. He started to speak, but the woman said, “Why, Inspector Grant, it’s good to see you again.”
Grant moved forward and bowed. “Lady Trent and Dr. Newton, it’s good to see you.”
Fenton’s sharp eyes went from the doctor and the woman addressed as Lady Trent then back to his assistant. “You’re already acquainted, I see.”
“Oh, yes.” Serafina nodded. “Inspector Grant was a great help to us when my brother was in need of it.”
“Yes, I read the account of that. Your brother was most fortunate.”
“Yes, he was.”
“I’m Supt. Edsel Fenton.”
Grant said at once, “I’m sorry. This is Lady Serafina Trent and her father, Dr. Septimus Newton.”
“I understand you serve as a medical inspector, Doctor?” Fenton said.
“Yes, I have been active in several cases.”
“And you, Lady Trent, I read the account in the paper which made you out to be quite a detective.” A slight edge touched his voice, and his eyes narrowed. “I trust you’re not here to play detective tonight.”
“Not at all, Superintendent. I assist my father in his medical procedures.”
“Oh, I see.” Somehow Fenton seemed to want to make something of these words, but finally he shook his head and said, “Well, you’ll need to see the body. Come this way.” Fenton had taken over completely, and he led the group to the pantry. “In there, Dr. Newton,” he said.
Septimus stepped forward and looked again at the body. Serafina moved closer but merely stood there watching him as he worked. In a very brief time he stood to his feet and said, “It may have been a heart problem, Superintendent, but it’s impossible to tell until we’ve done an autopsy.”
“I see no point in an autopsy if the man died of a heart attack!” Fenton snapped.
“I cannot tell what caused his death. An autopsy is necessary if you want to be sure.”
“Certainly I want to be sure,” Fenton said somewhat hesitantly. “Well then, proceed.”
“I can’t do that here,” Septimus said. He spoke mildly and looked down at the body. “We’ll have to take the body back to my laboratory.”
“And how long will it take?”
“The autopsy itself? It will not take too long, I would think. Getting the body there will take a little longer.”
Serafina said, “The body hasn’t been moved, has it?”
“No,” Edward said. “I made sure that no one touched it.”
Fenton seemed to be irritated by her question. He turned to Grant and asked, “Why are you standing there, Grant? Get to work.”
Grant met Fenton’s eyes, and for a moment the two men seemed locked in some sort of struggle, but then Grant said placidly, “Yes, sir.”
“Get some servants to help move the body, and we’ll need a room to be used as an office to question everyone in the house.”
“My study, would that do?” Edward asked.
“Very well. Come along, Sir Edward. I’ll begin with you.”
The two men left, and Grant said, “Just let me take one more look, and I’ll help you move the body.”
“I’m sure there are servants to help with that,” Serafina said quietly.
Serafina and her father watched as Grant went over the room again. He went to the door where Mrs. Swifton was standing with her back against the wall.
“You’re aware that the victim took a drink to Lord Darby every night?”
“Oh, yes, sir, everyone knew that.”
“Do you have any idea what he put in it?”
“No, sir, he kept it quite a secret. He wasn’t a joking man, but he liked to say that one day he would bottle this potion and get rich by selling it.”
“When was the last time you saw Charles Crinshaw alive?”
“He was in the kitchen having a cup of tea. It was rather late, and I bid him good night and went to bed. That must have been about nine thirty.”
“Thank you,” Grant said. “Would you see if you could find some strong men to help to move the body?”
“Yes, sir.”
After Mrs. Swifton left, Grant went back and studied the cup. He picked it up and said, “There’s still a little in this cup.” He picked up the bottle of wine and said, “Would you have any way of testing the contents of this wine and what’s remaining in the cup?”
“Yes, of course,” Serafina said.
Grant studied the body silently, and then Samuel Franks, the footman, and Tim, the coachman, came in, and Septimus instructed them as they picked the body up and moved it out. “You’ll need to put the body in a wagon, if you have such a thing,” he said.
“Yes, sir, we do. I’ll see to it.”
Serafina moved closer to Grant. “The superintendent doesn’t seem very considerate of you.”
Grant turned to face her. His hazel eyes seemed to glow, and as always she was amazed by his hair. He was only thirty-one years old, and his hair was prematurely silver. “Superintendent Fenton is rather defensive.”
“But why is h
e so harsh with you?”
“I couldn’t say.”
Serafina thought quickly. “It’s probably because he knows that you were scheduled to be put into the position he now holds. Why weren’t you?” she asked.
“The way of the world. He had connections. I’ll appreciate it if you could send someone as soon as possible with the results of the autopsy and of the test on the wine.”
“Of course, Inspector. As quickly as we can.”
Edward had grown restless under Fenton’s relentless questioning. He did not like the man and felt that for a superintendent he was unnecessarily demanding. But he answered the questions, and finally Edward sat up straighter and looked the man full in the eye. “Isn’t it premature to ask all these questions, Superintendent? After all, the man may have died of a heart attack.”
Fenton glared at him and said, “I’ll have to be the judge of that, Lord Darby.” He got to his feet. “I’ll leave Inspector Grant to continue the questioning. I have a great deal of responsibility. Good day, sir.”
“I’ll show you to the door.”
“I think I can find my way.” He left quickly and found Grant. “Grant, I want you to question the family and all the servants.”
“Yes, sir. What am I looking for?”
“For facts, man—facts! I don’t have time to teach you how to question witnesses. Now, do your job and report to me as soon as Newton gives you a report on the cause of death.”
“Yes, sir,” Grant said quietly and watched as the superintendent left the room, walking quickly as if to rid himself of the place.
Dylan had spent the early morning down by the harbor at the mission where he often volunteered. He had very little money, but he usually took a few things that the men might lack. Leaving the mission, he had gone to the Montevado house and was pleased to see that Maria, the mother of Callie and Paco, looked healthier. “You’re looking very well, Maria,” he said.
“Yes, sir. The money that the viscountess gave us has made such a difference.” She was of pure Spanish blood and had been married to Ramon Montevado. He’d been dead for five years, and Maria’s beauty was worn down from her work in the sweatshops. She had become ill, and it had been through Dylan Tremayne and the viscountess that her family had received care. Now there was a glow in her cheeks. “I wish you would give ’er my thanks again, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Of course I will.”
She said, “I ’ave to go out for a while. Callie, you entertain Mr. Tremayne.”
“Yes, Mama.”
Talking with Paco, who was eight, and Callie, who was almost thirteen, was always a pleasure to Dylan. They had sharpened their wits by surviving on the streets in one of the worst districts of London, and Callie, whose real name was Calendra, was turning into a real beauty. She was on the brink of young womanhood and, within a year or even less, would be quite different from the ragamuffin Dylan had first met.
He sat down and Callie fixed tea for him, and the two children, as usual, were intensely curious about what he did. They were fascinated by Dylan, and it was Calendra who asked finally, “Why is the viscountess so good to us, giving us money?”
“Why, she’s a good woman, she is.”
Callie stared at him and demanded, “Are you going to marry ’er?”
“Why would you say such a thing? I’m just a poor actor, and she’s a fine lady.”
Calendra said, “You’d make a good ’usband. She must be stupid if she can’t see ’at.”
“Oh no, she’s not stupid. Not Lady Trent. She’s the smartest person I’ve ever known.”
Calendra continued her pursuit of Dylan’s love life, and finally he laughed and got to his feet. “Well, throw me in the river if you can’t think of more questions than any human I ever saw! It’s all I can do to take care of myself, girl. Besides”—he grinned and reached out and tugged a lock of her jet black hair—“I might have a baby girl who’d grow up and pester me with foolish questions. I’ve got to go now.”
“When you coming back?” Paco asked.
“Very soon.”
“Will you bring us presents?” Paco asked with a grin.
“What kind of a present?”
“Something we’ll like.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Good-bye now.”
Leaving the Seven Dials district, he went back to Matthew’s rooms. He was hungry and had stopped on the way to get a kidney pie, and he was sitting down to eat it when Matthew came in. He took one look at Dylan and said, “I hope you got two of those.”
“No, I didn’t. I never know when I’ll see you.” He studied Matthew’s face and said, “What’s wrong? You look upset.”
“Well, it’s a case. You’ll be interested in it. It may concern young Trevor, that fellow you found for Lord Darby.”
Dylan was prepared to take a bite of the pie, but he put it down and said, “What’s happened?”
“There’s been a death at Lord Darby’s.” He went on to describe the case and said, “You may want to go out to Trentwood if you have time. Find out if the autopsy is over and bring me word.”
“I’ve got plenty of time, but you don’t seem happy, Grant.”
“I’m all right.” Grant did not seem all right, however. There was a harried expression in his eyes and a hardness that had been in him the first time Dylan had met him.
“You should be the superintendent.”
“Well, I’m not.” There was a bitterness to Grant, and he threw himself into a chair and stared at Dylan defiantly.
“God has us in His hands, Matthew. He’ll take care of you.” He almost spoke of Dora, but he did not. He was sure that Grant was head over heels in love with the young woman, and as superintendent he would have been a suitable candidate for a husband, but as a mere inspector, a policeman, he would never be accepted. He got up and said, “I’ll go out to Trentwood. I was planning to go out anyhow and visit David.”
“Send word as soon as there is a word.”
“Where will you be?”
“Probably back at Lord Darby’s house.”
Leaving the house, Dylan found a hansom cab and engaged the driver. On the way to Trentwood he thought about what Matthew had told him and was troubled by it for some reason. As soon as he reached the house, he paid the cabdriver, adding an extra shilling for his trouble and feeling guilty because his bank roll was small indeed.
When he went to the door, he was met by Louisa Toft, Serafina’s maid.
“Why, Mr. Tremayne.” She smiled, her eyes glowing. “How good to see you.”
“Why, thank you, Louisa.”
“Come in, sir. It’s cold out.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Can I take your coat?”
“I need to see Dr. Newton and Lady Trent.”
“Oh, sir, they’re in the laboratory outside. Shall I take you there?”
“No, thank you, Louisa. I know the way.”
“Is there anything else I could do for you?”
Dylan Tremayne was accustomed to women who were taken with him. Actors seemed to draw women as honey draws flies. Louisa was a beautiful young woman with rosy cheeks, clear eyes, and a pleasing form. There was something in her question, more than just a lightness, and he knew that all he had to say was one word and she would respond. But he had learnt better, and now he just simply smiled and said, “Thank you, Louisa,” and turned at once and went back outside. Louisa sighed deeply and shut the door.
When he reached the lab, after trudging through the packed snow, he knocked on the door and heard a muffled reply that he could not make out. He assumed it was an invitation to enter, and he stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He took in the scene: the naked body of a man on a table, with Dr. Newton and his daughter wearing white coats and standing over him. He felt the same queasy feeling he had felt the first time he had walked in on an autopsy. That time he had fainted dead away in front of Serafina, and now he wanted nothing so much as to be gone.
Serafina saw his pr
oblem and said at once, “Dylan, why don’t you go visit with David. We’ll soon be finished here. He’s missed you.”
“I believe I’ll do that.” With a quick gush of relief, Dylan turned and went back to the house. He entered and went upstairs to the old nursery, which had become a playroom for David. As he walked in, David, who was sitting on the floor amidst a jumble of toy soldiers, leapt to his feet and came over to him, his eyes flashing. “Did you come to play with me?”
“Well, for a while. I came to see your mother and your grandfather too.”
“Sit down. Show me some of the battles you were in when you were a soldier.”
Lowering himself to the floor, Dylan began arranging the soldiers, and David peppered him with questions, asking finally, “Did you ever kill anyone when you were a soldier?”
“I’m afraid I did, and I wish I hadn’t.” This was inexplicable to David, for whom death was only a vague, nebulous idea. Quickly he changed the subject, and the two began to move the soldiers around.
“Not good, is it, Father?” Serafina looked at her father and saw that he was as troubled as she was.
“Not at all. We’ll have to get our results to the police at once.”
“I’ll go up and tell Dylan. Perhaps he’ll want to take the news back to Silverthorn. I’m worried about young Trevor,” she said, stripping off the white coat and putting on her winter garb before going outside.
When she entered the house, she went upstairs at once to the playroom, and hearing voices, she paused. Through the open doors she could see David and Dylan sprawled out on the floor, Dylan on his stomach moving soldiers around and David, across from him, saying, “I won, didn’t I?”
“That you did, my boy.” Serafina watched as David came over and sat down across from Dylan.
“I wish you had some little boys for me to play with,” he said.
“Well, I guess I am a little shy of boys.”
“Don’t you want any boys or girls?”
“Oh, yes, indeed!”
“Well, why don’t you get married and have some then?”
Dylan smiled, and Serafina saw him reach out and tousle David’s fair hair. It was something David hated when other people did it, but he did not seem to mind Dylan’s touch. “Why, I just haven’t found the woman God is getting ready for me.”
A Conspiracy of Ravens Page 23
