32
I’d invited Ivy and Jeremy to come for breakfast and a council of war; I wanted to discuss all that we’d learned after we’d split up in the afternoon. Jeremy was much put out, insisting he couldn’t be anywhere before two o’clock in the afternoon, but managed to drag himself out of bed, and at nine o’clock, the four of us were seated comfortably around the table. The breakfast room looked over the garden, but there was no view today. The rain, which had started while we were in the park the day before, had grown heavier overnight, and now showed no signs of stopping. Fog and clouds socked in the town, and all we could see out the rain-streaked windows was a heavy gray mist.
Ivy poured milk in her tea and stirred it. “We spent a very strange afternoon with Winifred. I’m afraid, Colin, that we may need to intervene soon.”
“Why is that?”
“She told us about Mr. Stanbury’s scandal,” Ivy said. “Before the paper came out.”
“I don’t like the woman at all,” Jeremy said. “She gives me the willies. If you could have heard the glee in her tone as she told us.”
“It was disturbing,” Ivy said. “Jeremy did an admirable job of keeping her distracted, though. I’ve brought a sample of her wax.” She stood up and went to the sideboard, where we’d spread out our other clues. I followed her.
“An exact match,” I said.
“I can’t say I’m surprised,” Ivy said, her voice a bare whisper. “Winifred’s growing more and more fixated on people and their secrets. She…”
“What?” Colin asked.
“… she told us she’s keeping a list. A list of people and their secrets. She said she’s going to make sure they’re all exposed.” Ivy’s hands trembled as she sat back down and picked up her teacup.
“Ivy, did she confess anything to you?” Colin asked.
“No,” Ivy said. “But I wouldn’t be more alarmed if she had than I am now. I was surprised she spoke so freely in front of Jeremy.”
“I’m not,” he said. “She took it as an opportunity to warn me off bad behavior.”
“I can’t believe I’ve been so naïve, thinking she ever had my best interests at heart,” Ivy said. “This is an obsession for her, not a kindness.”
I reached for her hand and held it. “You always see the best in people, Ivy, and that’s a wonderful quality.”
“I was stupid,” she said.
“I don’t think so,” Jeremy said. “If anything, your charming habit of adoring everyone around you is endearing. I may throw Emily over for you.”
“You’ve done excellent work, Ivy,” Colin said. “And if you hadn’t accepted Mrs. Harris—and her faults—as a friend, we wouldn’t know to suspect her now. Emily, share with us what you learned from Mr. Foster yesterday.”
I relayed to them the details of our conversation.
“I don’t trust him at all,” Ivy said. “He’s such an appearance of goodness, yet he’s got better motive than anyone else.”
“It’s never wise to trust someone who looks good,” Jeremy said.
“I can’t say I’m sure what I think about him,” I said.
“What about Mr. Barnes?” Colin asked. “He admits he put together the bottle.”
“For Mr. Dillman,” I said.
“What if he learned that Mr. Dillman was trying to destroy Mr. Foster?” Ivy asked. “He could have left the bottle on Mr. Dillman’s step in an attempt to make him stop.”
“It’s possible,” Colin said. “Barnes wouldn’t have had such an easy time getting the respect he has if he didn’t have Foster’s backing.”
“So they both have motive for wanting to keep those papers hidden,” I said. “But Winifred Harris would have no such compunction. If anything, she’d want to expose them.”
“Could she have killed Dillman in an attempt to get them?” Jeremy asked.
Ivy cringed. “I cannot believe her capable of that.”
“I’ve gone through all the files in painful detail,” Colin said. “We don’t seem to be missing anything. None of our three has a credible alibi for the murders—they were all in London at the time and not indisposed. They each have motive, and they each have the ability to move around with enough freedom to have given them opportunity.”
“Our villain, whomever he or she may be, is exceedingly clever,” Ivy said. “Look at all he’s done without leaving any real clues to his identity.”
“It’s true,” Colin said. “You’d think he would slip up eventually and reveal something.”
“He’s like you,” I said. “Maddeningly calm in the face of adversity.”
“Perhaps I’m your villain,” he said.
“No, I don’t like you for it,” I said. “You’re too fond of architecture to go around vandalizing people’s houses.”
“That’s quite a vote of confidence,” he said.
Jeremy sighed. “I don’t suppose it ever crossed your mind to suspect me?”
“No,” we all said in unison.
“Another crushing disappointment.”
“I’m sure you’ll recover unscathed,” I said. “And if you don’t, we’ll have to soothe you later. There’s no time now. What we need at the moment is to incite in our villain an emotion strong enough to cause him to make a mistake, preferably one that will lead us to Lady Glover.”
“How do we do that?” Ivy asked.
“I’m not sure yet,” I said. “But take Mr. Foster, for example. Whatever we did would need to have something to do with elections—they’re the one thing that made him lose his composure. I’m inclined to see what his thoughts are on fraud in such circumstances.”
“Mr. Barnes?”
“He’s knowledgeable about Obeah,” Colin said, “and wouldn’t have remembered how to cast an appropriate spell after all these years away from the culture unless he believed in it at least a little bit. What, in a similar vein, might frighten him into thinking someone is after him? If he’s guilty, he couldn’t help but react.”
“Mrs. Harris deserves a measure of her own medicine,” Jeremy said. “Perhaps we need her to think she’s been beaten at her own game.”
“Find out her secret and expose it?” I asked.
“Precisely,” he said.
“There may be something there,” Ivy said. “But we should focus on Winifred’s attempt to blackmail Lady Glover. Nothing she’s hiding could be worse than facing imprisonment for extortion, and we wouldn’t have to dig around in search of some unknown fact about her.”
“That’s good thinking, Ivy. Do you think Lord Glover would let us search the house?” I asked Colin. “I can’t imagine his wife didn’t keep some sort of evidence against Mrs. Harris.”
“She’s far too smart to have neglected that,” he said. “I can speak to Glover, but I think it would be preferable if you did the actual searching. I don’t want to rifle through her belongings.”
“Why not?”
“It would be more seemly for a lady to do that, don’t you think? Or, if you’re ever under suspicion, should I send a burly policeman to go through your bedroom?”
“Fair enough,” I said. “So that leaves Mr. Foster and Mr. Barnes. I’d like to take Foster as I suspect you, Colin, have an inclination to protect him?”
“I’m not ashamed to admit it,” he said. “And will be desperately disappointed if I have to acknowledge murder as one of his sins.”
“At least you’re admitting he sins,” I said. “I’ll consider that a step in the right direction.”
“You’re awfully hard on him,” Ivy said. “He’s the one who helped you in Westminster.”
“If he were prime minister, you’d have a much better chance at making real progress towards winning the vote for women,” Colin said.
“I wouldn’t want his help if he’s as bad as those papers suggest.”
“I don’t want to get distracted arguing politics right now,” he said. “But would you really rather hold back equal rights for women than let slide some accusations that c
an’t be sufficiently proven?”
“I’d wager that they could be sufficiently proven if you were willing to thoroughly investigate them,” I said.
“I don’t agree.”
“I see your point,” I said. “But I still can’t concur. I don’t want to support a crooked politician just because he supports my cause.”
“No one has proven him crooked.”
“As I said, no one has bothered to try. Except perhaps Mr. Dillman. And we all know how that turned out.”
33
The next morning, even before I’d finished with my toilette, Ivy called for me. I had Davis send her to my dressing room, where Meg was struggling with my hair while I tried to read The Aeneid. The persistent rain had made it even more disobedient than usual and I was half convinced my maid was using my body weight in pins in her attempt to tame it.
“You’re soaked,” I said when Ivy pulled up a chair to sit next to me.
“It’s apocalyptic out there,” she said. “And only seems to be getting worse.”
“Do you need tea?” I asked.
“No, thank you. I’ve been thinking,” she said, picking up the silver-backed hairbrush from my dressing table and pressing her fingertips against the bristles. “I need you to help me with Winifred. I’ve lost my nerve.”
“You know Winifred despises me,” I said.
“I know. But there must be some way.”
She looked every kind of distraught. Her face was crinkled and pale, her pupils tiny and hard. I took the hairbrush away from her before she made permanent dents in her fingers.
“You’re very good at this, Ivy,” I said. “Just think how well you did in the park.”
“That was different,” she said. “It was in front of strangers, not someone so well acquainted with me.”
“We’ll come up with something. Don’t be upset.”
“What if she flies into a rage?” Ivy asked.
“She will, but not against us,” I said. “In fact, you’ve given me an idea of how I can help. We’ll call on her as soon as we’re done at the Glovers’.”
It did not break Meg’s heart to have to give up on my hair. With a sigh of relief, she handed me a bonnet that would hide at least some of its unruliness.
“Truly, madam, in weather like this there’s no hope for you.”
I threw a waterproof over my shoulders, Burberry gabardine lined with a fine wool.
“Really?” Ivy asked. “You look like you should be in the country. Possibly shooting something.”
“You said it was apocalyptic outside. I’ve no interest in getting as soaked as you.”
“I won’t try to stop you,” she said. “But it does pain me.”
We went downstairs and she collected from Davis an elegant mantle, with enormous sleeves and wider-than-could-be-sensible shoulders. He held an umbrella over our heads as he led us into Ivy’s carriage, and we arrived at Lord Glover’s house as dry as possible in the downpour.
The man himself was not at home, but his butler said we were expected, and led us upstairs to Lady Glover’s bedroom. He invited us to ring should we need any further assistance, and disappeared, closing the door behind him.
Her boudoir reminded me very much of Constantinople. The walls were tiled, rather than papered, and her bed was draped with richly colored silks hanging from tall posts. Instead of a settee or chaise longue, she had a collection of large pillows—also silk—piled in a corner. A book sitting in the middle of them suggested she liked to curl up there to read.
“I can’t imagine that would be comfortable,” Ivy said.
“Try it. I think you’ll change your mind.”
Ivy looked skeptical, but did as I suggested. “She’s on to something here, Emily. This is decadent.”
Getting up from the pillows proved somewhat more difficult with tight stays. I clasped her hand and pulled her to her feet so we could begin our work. We searched through every drawer in the chamber before moving on to the dressing room, where we met with equally little success. I rang for the butler.
“Is there anywhere else that Lady Glover tended to her work? Or answered correspondence? Does she have a study?”
“Follow me.”
He led us up another flight of steps to an elegant room, furnished in the neoclassical style. It contained a desk and three tall bookcases with glass fronts. The desk drawers had been fastened shut, but it took me fewer than sixty seconds to open them with my lock picks.
Each drawer was stuffed full of letters, most of them from amorous gentlemen eager to express their admiration for Lady Glover. It horrified me to see the names signed on the bottoms of some of them. Was there a man in London immune to her charms?
“I’m almost afraid to keep looking,” I said, “lest we find a name we don’t want to see. Let’s sift through the correspondence, but not read it. It’s unlikely she would have hidden her evidence in a love letter. Unless…”
“What?” Ivy asked.
I passed her the contents of the next drawer. “Search for anything from Mr. Harris.”
“Mr. Harris!” Ivy’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “You can’t possibly think—”
“Oh, yes, I can,” I said. I didn’t add that if I were married to Mrs. Harris, I, too, might seek affection elsewhere.
A quarter of an hour had gone by before either of us spoke again. Then Ivy threw back her head. “I stand corrected,” she said, and handed me a bundle of letters. Lady Glover kept each of her lovers’ notes separate. Mr. Harris’s missives were tied with a wide, red ribbon. Ivy had identified him from the first in the pile.
“We don’t need to read them,” I said. “Just check to see if there’s anything hidden amongst them or in the envelopes.” I gave half the stack back to her. Halfway to the bottom of those I’d kept, I found a bank receipt for £200, with the words For Mrs. Harris and her evil purposes written across the top. Attached to the receipt were two rather shocking photographs of a young Lady Glover in an extreme state of undress and a scrap of paper that read, I have more.
Ivy nearly fell over when I showed her. “I didn’t know things like that … I … I … What is one to think when confronted with such an image?”
“I don’t believe it’s meant to inspire thinking,” I said. “Come now, we’ve got what we need.”
We put everything else back in its place, thanked the butler for his assistance, and continued on our way, reaching the Harrises’ house just as the rain started to slow. Winifred received us in her private sitting room, near her bedroom. “It’s so early!” she said, embracing Ivy and cringing when she saw me. “Whatever can you be thinking?”
“Forgive me, Mrs. Harris,” I said. “I begged Ivy to bring me to you. I realize that we haven’t got off to a good start, and I wanted to try to remedy that.”
“You’d better serve your cause by trying at a reasonable time of day,” she said. “Morning is reserved for the calls of only the closest friends.”
“I’m well aware of it,” I said. “But I chose the time deliberately because I couldn’t risk coming to you when anyone else was here. Not given what I plan to show you.”
“You know I wouldn’t have agreed to bring her at this hour if it weren’t urgent, Winifred,” Ivy said. Any nervousness that she’d felt before we’d set off seemed to have evaporated. She was poised and composed, but I could tell she wasn’t enjoying herself the way she had in the park.
“I admit I’ve been opposed to your judgmental views. Offended by them, even. And I don’t agree with many of your actions,” I said. “But there are some things so extreme that decent people must rise up against them. When I realized what you’d done—and that you were about to be named as the villain in the story—well, I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.”
“You have my attention, Lady Emily,” Winifred said. “What is going on?”
“You’ve seen these atrocious pictures?” I held up one of them for her. She shielded her eyes and looked away.
“More than I want to,” she said. “Where did you find them?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “What does matter is that Lady Glover is bent on destroying you over it.”
“Lady Glover?” She laughed. “She’s the one who’ll be destroyed.”
“I’m afraid not,” I said. “She’s filed charges against you—accusing you of extortion. I only know this because my husband is privy to certain information at Scotland Yard. They’re nearly finished with their preliminary investigations and are likely to put you under arrest by the end of the day tomorrow.”
Winifred turned bright red and stood up, slamming her fist down hard on the table next to her. “This is outrageous!” she said. “All I was trying to do was keep that woman from further corrupting those around her. Our husbands are at risk, Lady Emily.”
I felt just the slightest twinge of sympathy for her. “I know they are, Mrs. Harris.”
“Thank you for alerting me to the problem,” she said. “But I don’t understand one thing. Hasn’t Lady Glover been kidnapped?”
“She’d already spoken to the police when she disappeared,” I said. “Because of the rest of what they’re having to deal with, it took a little while before they were able to look into her claims.”
“I see.”
“I just hope…” I let my voice fade.
“What?” Mrs. Harris asked.
“If anything were to happen to Lady Glover now—like what happened to Cordelia Dalton—the police would suspect you at once. We have to pray that whoever has her doesn’t lay a hand on her.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Mrs. Harris said, her face going pale.
“Is there anything I can do to help you, Winifred?” Ivy asked. “I hope you know you’ll always have my support.”
“I shall count on it, Ivy,” she said. “But for the moment, I have things well in hand. Lady Glover will live to regret this action. She should have left well enough alone.”
* * *
Ivy was trembling when we climbed back into her carriage, proving once again her skills as an actress. I’d truly believed she wasn’t struggling during her scene with Winifred. The rain had come back in earnest, and there was no sign of it slowing again soon. She pulled her mantle tight around her as she sat down.
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