The Killing at Kaldaire House

by Kate Parker

  “All right, Emily. No need to be dramatic,” she tsked. “I need your help. I don’t know anyone else I can call on, and you are such a competent young woman. Help me. Please.”

  That was the first “please” I’d ever heard from an aristocratic customer. I nodded.

  “I’ll need the hats by the day after tomorrow.” She rose and walked over to her desk, pulling out her checkbook.

  I knew I’d been dismissed, but at least I was being paid.

  * * *

  It had been a very long night. Now it promised to be an equally long day. When I’d left Kaldaire House, I’d gone to Lady Kaldaire’s bank to get my money. I’d only returned to my shop half an hour before Noah came out from the back room. My saleswoman, Jane, who was helping me set a finished hat to its best advantage on an American industrialist’s wife’s head, saw him first and took over with a nod.

  By the time I reached Noah, Inspector Russell had joined him.

  “Come with me, gentlemen.” I led them through the storeroom behind the shop where we made minor adjustments to hats. Each creation rested in one of our easily identifiable boxes, stored on a shelf ready to be picked up by a customer.

  When we reached the alley, I was glad to see it wasn’t raining. This was the only good I could find now that these irritating policemen had invaded my business during the day. Then I stopped and shivered, wondering what they wanted now. With as brave a voice as I could find, I said, “Can this wait? We’re busy at the moment.”

  “No. It can’t.” The Scotland Yard detective gestured for me to precede him into the workshop.

  I walked in to find our employees and Matthew standing in a tight group watching the bobbies search everywhere in the building. Annie, my apprentice, had backed herself into a corner and stood there, clutching a broom as tall as she was in defense. The older sergeant I’d seen before with Inspector Russell was now standing guard in front of the door to the little room where we stored our hatmaking materials.

  I couldn’t afford production to stop. Glowering at Matthew and the employees, I bellowed, “Get back to work.”

  Russell held up his hand, palm out, toward them and said, “No.”

  I turned on the detective, fury in my voice. “Why not?”

  “First we need to discuss what we found in your storeroom.”

  They’d searched my shop and now they’d returned to search the workshop. The storeroom held felt, feathers, netting, ribbon, and straw. Nothing that could interest Scotland Yard. I gave Noah a puzzled glance.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know either.”

  We walked over to the sergeant, who opened the door and turned on the electric light in the ceiling. Everything looked to be in place until I looked at one corner. “Noah?”

  We both began to move forward, but were stopped immediately by the inspector and the sergeant.

  I pointed to the corner. “Why are there paintings in my storeroom?”

  “We hoped you’d tell us that, Miss Gates,” Inspector Russell said.

  Matthew walked up to stand shoulder to shoulder with Noah and me. He couldn’t understand a word of our rapid conversation, but he wanted to demonstrate his faith in us.

  I put an arm around him, but he shook me off with an embarrassed sigh. Noah punched him in the arm and the two exchanged man-to-man nods. My little brother was growing up faster than I realized.

  I turned my attention back to the paintings. “Noah?” He ran the workshop. He must know. Otherwise, I saw my future spent in prison.

  “They weren’t there when I closed up last night.”

  “And this morning when you opened up?”

  He sighed, looked at the concrete floor, looked away, and then studied the ceiling. “I planned to tell you, but you left for Lady Kaldaire’s so early, and then you’ve been busy in the shop after this lot kept you up half the night…”

  I had the general idea. “But you don’t know how they got there?” We exchanged a look.

  His expression said he was as puzzled as I was. “No.”

  I turned back to the inspector. “And neither do I. You’re welcome to them. Where did they come from?”

  “They were stolen from a private collection last night.” Those smiling gray eyes of his looked hard as steel now.

  “You know where I was, and it wasn’t stealing paintings.”

  “Then how do you explain the appearance of these paintings in your storeroom?”

  “I can’t, Inspector. Why did you decide to look for them here?”

  “We got an anonymous tip.” I could see he found it amusing. I suspected he also found it suspicious.

  I certainly did. “And who was supposed to have taken these paintings and put them in my storeroom last night?”

  “I know it couldn’t have been you or your brother. You two were busy elsewhere. But your foreman or employees could be involved.”

  I crossed my arms. “I don’t believe it.”

  “I don’t believe so, either. But there is the Gates gang. Do any of your relatives have a key?”

  Blast my father and his family. They’d done nothing but cause trouble for me all my adult life. Steam came out of my ears whenever they were mentioned. Everyone who knew me knew I refused to have anything to do with them and blamed their criminal activity for my mother’s early death. “Yes. My cousin Noah and my brother. Neither of whom could have had anything to do with this. If you think the Gates gang did it, then they must have broken in.”

  “We see no sign of a break-in.”

  How could he sound so calm and dispassionate when talking about my father’s terrible family? “If they could break in and steal,” I said, pointing across the crowded space, “a half-dozen valuable paintings without leaving you any clues, they could certainly break in here without any difficulty. We have little security.”

  “How often have they hidden their loot here before?” the detective asked.

  “Never that I know of. And I don’t know why they did last night. Did you interrupt their thieving?”

  Inspector Russell looked away and said, “This couldn’t have been the first time.”

  A verbal sleight of hand. I’d learned to recognize that as a child. My temper flared at a policeman who would think the offspring of con artists wouldn’t notice. “You did interrupt them. Why didn’t you stop them instead of letting them break in here?”

  He looked into my eyes and said in a level tone, “We wanted to see where they hid their loot.”

  “Which member of my father’s illustrious family was it?”

  “That hid the paintings here? It was Petey.”

  I was almost too angry to speak coherently. “He’s a moron. And that’s his idea of a joke. Noah, keep an eye on everything. I’ll be back shortly.” I turned around and marched out of the workshop.

  Inspector Russell was on my heels. “You can’t—”

  “Just watch me.”

  He grabbed my arm and swung me around in the alley. Fortunately, no one saw us, because we ended standing too close for the rules of etiquette. “You’ll get to face him, just not yet.”

  I studied his face. His nose was slightly bent where it had been broken, probably more than once. His lips were a little thin, but that might have been because he was being obstinate at that moment. His jawline was square, adding to that stubborn look. His bowler hat hid most of his short brown hair that appeared to be a rich, warm shade. But it was his eyes that arrested me.

  The gray was flecked with blue, silver, and a shade that was almost black. At the moment, his eyes flashed anger and a heat that built an answering tremor in my chest. I had no idea what he thought as he studied my face. “What do you have in mind?”

  “I’d like to use you as an informant on the Gates gang.”

  I laughed. “They’ll never trust me.”

  “You’ll have to make them trust you. Otherwise, you’re the one receiving stolen property.”

  I saw where this was going, and it brought tears of anger and
frustration and fear to my eyes. “If you arrest me, you’ll ruin my business. A business I’ve spent years building. I’ll spend so much time trying to save it I won’t have time to help you.”

  “Maybe I should just arrest Noah.”

  “Noah? Why?” I felt like a rock struck me in the stomach. The detective was using everything in his arsenal, and with every attempt to intimidate me, I became more irritated as well as frightened. He was a peeler. He could make a judge believe whatever he wanted and ruin my life. Destroy all my plans for Matthew. Put me in prison.

  “He has a key. He locked up last night and opened this morning. Maybe he didn’t lock up so Peter Gates could just walk in.”

  “You’re not going to arrest Noah. You can’t. He’s worked here as long as I can remember. He was my mother’s business partner. I rely on him.” Now I was begging. And I could see it wasn’t doing me any good. I made my final argument. “He’s not a Gates.”

  All through my childhood and my first years as a hat designer, my mother and Noah had worked together, patiently, tirelessly, showing me the best ways to carry out our trade. To allow him to arrest Noah was almost like defiling my mother’s memory.

  He looked at a spot over my head. “By rights I should arrest you for the murder of Lord Kaldaire.”

  I sucked in my breath and felt the hangman’s rope burn my neck. I bit my lip to fight off my tears. “I didn’t do it.”

  “You were wearing gloves. His killer didn’t leave fingerprints. You had broken in wearing boys’ clothing. You had a vehicle waiting for you down the street. You easily could have bludgeoned him.”

  “But I didn’t. Would I have called for help if I’d attacked Lord Kaldaire? Better to sneak away before anyone knew I was there.”

  “I don’t know. Would you?” He gave me a half-smile.

  I studied him for a moment. He believed me innocent in Lord Kaldaire’s death, but he saw a benefit in keeping me on the list of suspects. “You have a plan. And I’m the bait.”

  Chapter Four

  Inspector Russell looked like a fox that had been handed the key to the henhouse. “No. You’re only going to work for me. Unofficially, of course.”

  “I don’t think so.” I could think of a dozen reasons why this wouldn’t work.

  “Either you go to work for me, or I’ll have to arrest you for the murder of Lord Kaldaire. That will destroy your business.”

  I must have looked like I was ready to cry or murder him, because he added, “I don’t want to. It would be much better for you to work with me than to sit in a cold cell with a group of prostitutes.”

  “You’ll ruin my reputation.” That sounded like one of the most unpleasant possibilities facing me. There was no way for me to come out unscathed and no way to avoid working for the inspector. “And once I help you bring down my father’s relatives, then you’ll throw me in jail.”

  “No. Not unless you killed his lordship.”

  “I didn’t.” The inspector was difficult. Dreadful. Horrible. But he certainly knew how to manipulate me. Just like Lady Kaldaire. I was frustrated, trapped, and worst of all, it was my own fault. I put myself in this position when I broke into Kaldaire House.

  “If you work for me, you and Noah and Matthew can go on as before, safe from the Gates gang and murder charges.”

  He was a bobby. I couldn’t trust him. And that lack of trust filled my voice. “Can I have that in writing?”

  He grinned. “You know I can’t do that.”

  I knew he wouldn’t. He was the enemy as much as my father’s family was. And that thought made me worry about another thing he’d said. “Why did you look for blood on my hatpin last night?”

  “You’ve heard of the Central Line killer?”

  “Yes. It’s been in all the papers.” Over the past year, three men had died close to Central Line stations under mysterious circumstances. Men now looked over their shoulders when using the Underground at night.

  “A fourth victim was struck down last evening near the Bond Street station. Near where you were. His name was Jeremiah Pruitt.”

  “And you suspect me?” What little was left of my temper frayed. As I stepped toward Inspector Russell, my index finger ready to poke him in the chest, I saw Noah and the sergeant peek out into the alley and then slip back inside the workshop. Cowards.

  “I must be a one-woman crime wave. I killed a man by an Underground stop, then ran over to Lord Kaldaire’s to murder him, broke into a safe, called for help and then stole several other paintings from another location that showed up in my millinery workshop. You must find me amazing.” Sarcasm wasn’t much of a weapon, but at the moment, it was all I had. That, and the poking.

  Russell must have tired of being poked, because he grabbed my wrist. “Yes, you are amazing. Do you know how hard it is to be suspected of several unrelated crimes in one night?”

  “Well, I didn’t do any of them.” I realized I’d shouted at him and snapped my mouth shut.

  “Then don’t be so difficult. The Gates gang trusts you more than they do the police. You have a unique opportunity to do some good for society. Help me put criminals in jail.”

  He held my hand against his jacket where I couldn’t avoid feeling the rough wool fabric and the strong muscles underneath. I could smell coal fires, soap, and the essence of a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “You want me to betray my family to the police.”

  “No, Miss Gates. I know you won’t do that. But there are ways you can help protect the law-abiding residents of London. Ways to do good.”

  I stared into his eyes for a minute before I said, “You really believe that.”

  “Yes.”

  Wow. Having lived among my Gates relatives and worked with the rich and aristocratic, all of whom shared the same code of Whatever benefits me is right, I was astonished. “It’s been a long time since I met anyone who believed so completely in the power of right and good.”

  “And the majesty of the law.”

  “You’re serious?” Oh, my. I’d never met a man like him before.

  “Yes. Help me, Miss Gates. You have ways to talk to these people that I can never accomplish. Otherwise, my bosses at Scotland Yard will want an arrest. Any arrest. And you’re our prime suspect.”

  My mouth opened in shock. “All that nonsense about the majesty of the law and believing in right and wrong. I almost fell for it.”

  He grinned at my fury. “I believe in it, Miss Gates. I never said my bosses do.”

  “So I have two choices. Do as you ask or go to jail.” I hated being used, and Inspector Russell appeared to be a master at using people. I wanted to lash out, run, hide. Anything but stand here and listen to this wickedly clever man manipulate me.

  Much the same way Lady Kaldaire could, but she offered to pay me. Inspector Russell threatened to arrest me.

  Two people were pulling me in different directions, and I didn’t want to go in either. Especially since the inspector wanted to imprison my relatives for theft and breaking in, and Lady Kaldaire wanted me to risk jail time to carry out her dangerous fancies. Was there no solution?

  He looked hopeful. “You won’t find a better boss than me.”

  “I’ve worked for myself since my mother died.”

  “Not any longer. Not if you’re smart.”

  The sergeant came over and Inspector Russell dropped my wrist like a hot coal. “Sir, there’s something else you should see. We found it behind the paintings.”

  Russell walked back into my factory. I followed, noticing with frustration that my employees still stood idle, waiting for the police to finish. Their work sat unfinished at their places along the two long tables, ribbons half folded, needles stuck in edges, fabric cut halfway through.

  Those hats wouldn’t make or trim themselves.

  We went into the storeroom where the paintings had been moved and stacked near the door. In the corner was a burlap sack, a bobby standing guard over it.

  The ser
geant went over and picked the bag up to bring it to the inspector. “Looks like the Gates gang hid more than just paintings in here. These match the description of some jewelry taken in a heist three nights ago.” He held out his hand and poured the contents into it.

  Russell picked up a jeweled necklace that had to be worth a fortune and held it up near my face. “You’ve been hiding a lot of goods for them. What’ll it be, Miss Gates?”

  Matthew stepped next to me and put an arm around my shoulder. I held my fist up, our sign for “Thank you.” He was trying to protect me, while I was trying to do the same for him.

  Words of my grandfather’s came to mind: Unspecific verbal agreements carry no weight. And it’s always permissible to lie. “All right. I’ll do it.”

  I never said what “it” was.

  And as maddening as Inspector Russell was, I wouldn’t have minded seeing him again. There was something about that man…

  It took some doing, but I finally got rid of the police and nagged the workshop back into production by reminding my employees that none of us would get paid until the work was finished. I told Noah about the hats Lady Kaldaire had asked for and worked up some designs. From those, using the measurements we had for her ladyship, Noah made the frames.

  At the end of the day, I still had plenty to do, but first I needed to pay a call.

  My grandfather claimed to run a livery stable. However, that was too honest a profession to interest him. He left the stable business under my grandmother’s fierce gaze and spent his days watching the rich and famous for telltale signs of goods purchased and the means of access to those goods.

  He dressed for these excursions as an elderly man of leisure, the kind who looks familiar but for whom you can’t quite put a name to the face. His white mustache and eyebrows drooped like those of so many men of his age. His top hat and frock coat were of an older style but immaculate, as if he had a very good valet. He carried a silver-headed walking stick pinched in a burglary long before I was born.

  I went to the lodgings down the alley behind the stable, knowing I’d find him there at this time of day.