‘You are thinking, I would imagine, that Felsham went to see Connie, and that it was he who killed her.’
‘Him or Barton. The two of them together. Or Felsham and Tyrell.’ Jake threw up his hands in frustration. ‘We are no further forward. Perhaps we will have to reply upon your Miss Larson’s newspaper article to draw the killer out after all. I was hoping that wouldn’t actually be necessary.’
‘Implying that an arrest is imminent and seeing if it scares the guilty party into taking flight.’
‘Exactly so.’ Jake curled his upper lip. ‘It’s not much, but at present it’s the best we have.’
Their conversation took them to Haughton Street. It was too early for Stoker to be on duty, but the obliging Morris told them that Tyrell had not left his apartment that morning. When they knocked at Tyrell’s door they were surprised to find the actor up at such a relatively early hour, groomed and looking every inch the leading man. He swept a low bow and invited them in. Otto decided that he was playing a part, but whether that was for his own amusement or to cover his guilt, he had yet to fathom.
‘Here are the earrings,’ he said, handing Jake the box.
Jake opened it and checked the contents. Otto peered over his shoulder, hiding with difficulty his surprise at Chichester’s generosity. He could see that the baubles would have cost him a small fortune, indicative of his desperation to hold on to Connie.
‘Thank you.’ Jake slipped them into his pocket, resisting the urge to ask where Tyrell found the funds to redeem them. Otto knew it was none of their business and probably had no bearing on Connie’s murder, but even so… ‘Did Felsham set you up in this apartment so that you could keep a watch over Connie?’ Jake asked.
‘Why on earth would he do that?’ But Tyrell, Otto noticed, couldn’t meet Jake’s eye as he made his negligent response, finding something to hold his attention on the cluttered table instead. His performance was already slipping.
‘You were both very anxious to have Connie tour with Felsham’s company. Your career and Felsham’s financial survival rested upon her decision. Felsham was fairly sure he could rely upon Barton, due to their link—’
‘You know about that?’ Tyrell’s eyes widened with shock.
‘I suspected. You have just confirmed that suspicion.’
Tyrell shook his head, a reluctant smile briefly touching his lips. ‘Very clever, my lord.’
‘Tell us the precise nature of their relationship,’ Otto invited.
Tyrell shook his head and slowly wagged a finger beneath Otto’s nose. ‘Nice try, darling, but no can do. If you want to know, you must ask one of them.’
‘Oh, we intend to. And if we don’t get a satisfactory response, I dare say our friends in the Detective Department will have more success.’
‘Bring on the thumbscrews, you mean.’ Tyrell giggled like a girl. ‘I thought they stopped doing that sort of thing in the dark ages.’
‘Your unwillingness to help us surprises me,’ Jake said. ‘After all, if Felsham is suspected of having a hand in Connie’s death then your career will suffer exponentially.’
‘My dear chap, this is the best possible thing that could have happened to the company.’
‘Connie’s death?’ Otto asked scathingly.
‘No, not that. Of course we are all sorry about that.’
‘But you are exploiting her connection to your company for your own ends.’
‘Every cloud, my dear. Every cloud.’ Tyrell gave a careless shrug. ‘We are playing to full houses right now. My star is in the ascendency at last without help from anything other than my own talent.’
Jake shook his head, clearly as disgusted as Otto felt. It soon became evident from Tyrell’s evasive answers that if he knew anything important he wasn’t about to tell. Admitting defeat, at least for now, the two men left the preening actor examining his own reflection in a full-length mirror.
‘Ye gods,’ Otto said.
‘Quite,’ Jake agreed tersely.
‘After everything I’ve seen since working with Isaac, the situations people are willing to exploit for their own ends ought not to surprise me, but Tyrell using Connie’s death in such a manner…’ He growled his disapproval. ‘I need fresh air. I have an unpleasant taste in my mouth.’
‘Come along. Let’s return home and plan our next move.’ Jake slapped Otto’s shoulder. ‘There will be a chink somewhere and we shall find it. Let Tyrell enjoy his five minutes of fame. That, I can assure you, is all it will be. But now, it’s time for luncheon. Perhaps a little sustenance will help us to see things more clearly. One can but hope.’
Chapter Fourteen
Until Connie’s murderer had been brought to book, Sophia knew she could not give way to grief. Helping to uncover the culprit’s identity gave her a purpose and a focus for her anger. She was not being permitted to make much of a contribution but she reined in her resentment, aware that Lord Torbay and Otto were better equipped to fight that particular battle than she would ever be, and that she was fortunate to have them take up her cause.
‘I have given in to Tom’s pleadings and agreed to take him to the park,’ Olivia said, putting her head round Sophia’s door late that morning. ‘Nanny is more than capable, of course, but I think I’m more lenient and don’t get cross when he gets his clothes dirty, which he somehow always manages to do, so he naturally he prefers my company.’
‘Of course he does.’ Sophia sat at the window putting the final touches to the article Jake had suggested she write. She put her pen aside and summoned up a smile. ‘What little boy worthy of the name gives a thought to cleanliness when there is the wide outdoors just waiting to be explored?’
‘Will you come with us? I know it’s chilly but the paths are fairly sheltered.’
‘With pleasure.’ Sophia liked the idea of some fresh air. ‘A little cold weather never did anyone any harm. Besides, the rain seems to be holding off.’
They set off a short time later and Tom, Sophia soon discovered, was a delightful distraction, making it impossible for her to dwell upon her problems. He asked a constant barrage of questions that required her attention. Questions that had no place in the vocabulary of a four-year-old, causing Sophia to smile spontaneously since…well, it felt like forever since the desire to smile had gripped her.
Although now that she thought about it, Otto nearly kissing her had definitely elicited a smile, hard as she had tried to suppress it. He probably assumed that her morals were as loose as her sister’s, Sophia thought, especially since she did precious little to discourage him. But a moment’s contemplation was all it took for her to absolve herself from blame. She had not been expecting his advances and he had caught her completely unawares. He would soon discover that he quite mistook her character if he attempted to take liberties for a second time. Sophia had loved Connie unconditionally, but that did not mean that she approved of all the choices her sister had made in pursuit of her ambitions.
‘Where do baby ducks go in the winter, Mama?’ Tom asked, staring with confusion at a lake devoid of aquatic fowl.
‘They grow up into Mummy and Daddy ducks, darling.’
Tom considered this startling revelation. ‘Then where do their babies come from?’
‘From eggs.’
Tom frowned. ‘But I eat eggs for breakfast. Does that mean I’m eating a baby duck?’
‘Oh dear,’ Olivia said, smiling behind her gloved hand. She looked relieved when Tom was distracted by a gaggle of other children accompanied by their nannies. He waved, gave a loud whoop and dashed off to join them. ‘I had hoped that such questions wouldn’t start for a few more years yet.’
‘One of the penalties of having a child with a vivid imagination,’ Sophia replied. ‘It would be a shame to quell it.’
‘I couldn’t agree more.’ Olivia sighed. ‘He will be going off to preparatory school before I know it. I can hardly bear the thought, even though I know he is lucky to have the opportunity for a gentleman’s educati
on.’
‘So he should. He is Lord Torbay’s son.’
‘Stepson,’ Olivia pointed out. ‘Fortunately he has an amiable disposition and enough intelligence to overcome any resentments. Public schools are brutal places.’
‘Then you should also give thanks that Tom is large enough to discourage the bullies from picking on him. If he stands up for himself and bloodies one or two noses, they will steer clear of him. Bullies like easy targets.’
‘Oh, don’t say that!’
‘Boys will scrap, Olivia, no matter the walk of life they come from. It is something that the entire male species has in common. That’s why we have so many wars.’
‘True enough.’ Olivia linked her arm through Sophia’s as they strolled along in the wake of the cluster of boys, none of whom seemed capable of remaining on their feet for long, despite the damp grass and drizzle in the air.
‘See what I mean,’ Sophia said, laughing as Tom and another boy chased one another, pretending to land blows that missed their mark by a safe distance.
‘I do.’ Olivia turned her full attention to Sophia. ‘How do you feel today? There’s no need to put on a brave face, you know. I realise just how devastating it is to lose a loved one and I personally do not prescribe to the practise of keeping one’s emotions in check.’
‘I don’t think that full realisation has dawned quite yet,’ Sophia replied. ‘I keep thinking of things I want to tell Connie in my next letter to her. Then I remember that I shall never write to her again and the pain is almost impossible to withstand.’ She impatiently brushed away a tear with the back of her gloved hand. ‘And so I try to concentrate upon finding the person responsible for her death. I want to know why, what he thinks gave him the right to take her life, and so many other things besides. It might help me to overcome my grief if I at least know that much,’ she said without much conviction.
‘I understand completely,’ Olivia replied, as they sat down on a dry bench in the lee of the wind and watched the children frolicking on the grass. ‘You might also give some thought to how and where you intend to live once Connie’s killer has been brought to justice.’
‘You make it sound like a foregone conclusion. That he will be caught, I mean.’
‘I know it seems hopeless at the moment, but Jake has never yet failed with any case he has taken upon himself to investigate.’
‘Well, that’s encouraging.’ Sophia let out a slow breath. ‘As to where and how I shall live…’ She spread her hands. ‘I cannot go back to my parents.’ She played absently with the cuff of one glove. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that they are still disowning Connie, even in death. They are so rigid, so worried about how others perceive them. They consider themselves respectable pillars of the local community. And yet they turned their backs on their own daughter because she embarrassed them.’ Sophia fixed Olivia with a puzzled look. ‘How can they equate the two? Being Christians and denying their own child, I mean.’
‘Excuse the bluntness of the question, but did they disown Connie before or after she accepted Lord Chichester’s terms?’
‘I don’t think they are even aware of that particular arrangement. The moment Connie declared her intention of making a career for herself as an actress she was dead to them. Her name was not permitted to be mentioned in our household. She had to send her letters to me to a friend’s address. Papa would have destroyed them unopened if they had come to our home.’
Olivia wrinkled her nose. ‘How very unpleasant he sounds.’
Sophia smiled. ‘I feel no disloyalty in admitting to you that they are both unfeeling bigots.’ She folded her hands in her lap and lifted her chin. ‘There, I have said it and the hand of God has not smitten me down.’
‘Do you feel liberated?’
‘Just a little.’ Sophia managed a brief smile. ‘Anyway, to answer your earlier question, I shall live cheaply somewhere in London, I suppose, and continue to write articles for the newspapers in order to support myself. I have Connie’s jewellery, which I have no intention of returning to Lord Chichester.’ She shuddered when she thought of that portly individual and what Connie had had to endure in order to procure the baubles in question. ‘She more than earned those gifts.’
‘Indeed she did,’ Olivia said with a moue of distaste.
‘I shall sell the jewels if funds run short, but shouldn’t have to if I can get regular work. My editor likes the pieces I write for him as a general rule. He says I have a way of bringing situations alive, which is really very kind of him. Anyway, as long as I have that, I shall be quite content.’
Although of course now that Connie was gone she would no longer have access to all the behind the scenes bickering and theatrical gossip that the newspaper-reading public had lapped up. Perhaps that was why Mr Simeon thought her articles were so refreshing. He didn’t know quite what a valuable inside source she’d had.
She briefly wondered if her muse had died with Connie, but quickly abandoned the notion. Writing was what she did and she was good at it. She would find other topics of interest. Riley Rochester’s disdain for the Detective Department sprang to mind. But that had been speculated upon endlessly already, and she could think of no new angles.
The legal system. She sat a little straighter as an idea occurred to her. Perhaps Otto could be persuaded to talk about the battles he fought on behalf of his clients at the Old Bailey. The current system ensured that the odds were stacked in favour of the prosecution. She could follow particular cases, lay out the evidence for and against the accused, and highlight the police’s laziness in pinning the crimes on the most convenient suspects. The series could run and run and might possibly make a real difference. She felt enthused by the idea, choosing to ignore the little voice inside her head that suggested she was simply creating excuses to spend time with Otto.
She admired him and liked him very much. He was unlike any man she had ever met before—sophisticated, intelligent, handsome, and genuinely interested in helping her with her problems. Seen in that light, how could she not be smitten? But the attraction went beyond mere gratitude. It was more fundamental than that. He could make her feel alive and desirable simply by looking at her in a particular fashion, which was ludicrous. Sophia must really get over her mild infatuation before she made an almighty fool of herself. He had already mentioned that his mother had expectations he was required to fulfil—and she, with her decidedly middle-classed background, would never pass muster in the viscountess’s eyes.
Times were changing, but the ruling classes clung to their traditions and closed ranks against outsiders just as assiduously as ever. That might be the basis for another series of articles, she thought. The aristocracy were, God forbid, sometimes required to work for a living nowadays, rubbing shoulders with ambitious members of the upper middle-classes who considered themselves their equals. But Sophia knew that particular divide would never be crossed. One was either born a gentleman or one was not. Money counted for little. It was considered vulgar to flaunt it and was not the measure of a gentleman.
‘Your grandmother?’ Olivia’s voice intruded upon Sophia’s rambling thoughts. ‘Could you not live with her?’
‘Oh good heavens, no! She cares so little for my welfare that she hasn’t attempted to contact me since I left her home?’
‘Would she know where to find you?’
‘She knew where Connie lived and could have sent a message, just to make sure that I was safe. None has arrived thus far, which hardly surprises me. My father rules with a rod of iron but you can be sure that in his case the apple did not fall far from the tree.’
‘You were scribbling away when I interrupted you this morning and suggested this walk. Have you written the article that Jake suggested?’
‘Yes,’ Sophia replied, crossing her fingers in her lap to negate the half-truth. She had indeed been writing busily, and had produced not one article but two. She had yet to decide which would find its way into the newspapers. That depended upon the
success of Lord Torbay’s investigations that morning.
A chill wind caused Olivia to shiver. ‘Come along, my dear, I think Tom has had enough air for one morning. And so have we.’ Both ladies stood and Olivia called to Tom, who was scrambling up a tree like a monkey. ‘Besides, Jake should be back for luncheon soon and I dare say you are keen to learn what progress he has made.’
Tom tumbled from the tree, shouted goodbye to his friends, and rejoined his mother. His hands and face were grimy, the knees of his knickerbockers stained with grass. Clearly, he’d had an excellent time. The sight of him in his rumpled clothing, the infectiousness of his enthusiasm and his closeness to his mother as he chatted away to her about the children he’d just been romping with made Sophia smile.
She felt a pang of regret for a way of life she had never known. Not the wealth and privilege that Olivia took her in stride, but the simple joy of being held in affection by the woman who had given her life. Sophia had never felt that she could run to her mother and confide in her, pour out her heart or ask for advice. The woman had never shown the slightest maternal interest in her children, unless it was to criticise their conduct or dole out punishments for minor transgressions.
At least, Sophia reasoned, watching Olivia tousle her son’s hair, her family’s coldness had enabled her to reach a decision about her own future without guilt playing a part. She had no one to please but herself now. No one to care what she did. Connie’s death had brought home to her just how fleeting life could be, and she was determined to make the most of her own.
Social Graces Page 20
