Scandal Above Stairs_A Below Stairs Mystery

by Jennifer Ashley

  “And now Harmon is dead,” Cynthia finished. “And can tell no tales.”

  Chief Inspector Moss listened, brows raised, but his stance told me he was manifestly uncomfortable with Lady Cynthia. He cleared his throat. “McAdam, perhaps we could adjourn and discuss this.”

  I took a step closer to Daniel. On no account was I going to let him go off alone with Chief Inspector Moss.

  “This is as good a place as any,” Daniel said with his usual affability. “I’ve invited another to join us—ah, there he is.” He waved through the window at James, who nodded and opened the door.

  The man who came in was Mr. Varley. I stepped even closer to Daniel—Varley was large and brutish, and I did not like the way he glared at us. He might have a knife or worse, a pistol. A man did not have to get very close to his victim to shoot him.

  Varley took in Tess and Lady Cynthia, who’d drawn together, then me. I saw him look puzzled but then dismiss us ladies. He looked over Chief Inspector Moss, but instead of being worried that a policeman, especially a high-ranking one, was present, he only shot Daniel an annoyed glance.

  “Tom,” Varley greeted Daniel—I remembered Varley had thought this was Daniel’s name. “What’s ’e doin’ ’ere?” He indicated Moss with a flick of his thumb.

  Moss gave him a hard look. “I’m afraid the game is up, Varley.”

  “What game?” Varley asked in unfeigned astonishment. “What you goin’ on about?”

  “Selling stolen goods,” Moss said in clipped tones. “Antiquities, paintings, whatever you brought through here, you name it.”

  “But—” Varley swung back to Daniel. “You’re havin’ me on. I agreed that if anyone was to go down, it were Pilcher. Magistrate would want to bang ’im up for any number of fings.”

  Daniel apparently hadn’t heard this. He went still, his good-natured expression vanishing as he turned to Chief Inspector Moss. “Pilcher?”

  “Yeah, that were the agreement, right?” Varley looked at Moss. “That’s why you brung in a villain like ’im. And to scare off any poachers on our business.”

  “You hired Pilcher?” Daniel asked Moss, his voice dangerously quiet. “To do what, kill anyone who might talk? Clean up the mess?”

  I thought of the overly large, granite-faced man in the interview room at Scotland Yard, how the shackles had barely fit his fists. He was terrifying—Mr. Varley looked harmless in contrast, and I knew Mr. Varley was a long way from harmless.

  “How horrible,” I said softly, unable to stop myself.

  Lady Cynthia and Tess had gone very quiet, no doubt realizing the situation had drastically changed. Instead of simply telling a policeman about the thefts at Clemmie’s, we now stood in the presence of killers.

  Moss looked me up and down. “What is this woman to you, McAdam? I was persuaded to take you on because you were unconnected. Are you married to her?”

  Daniel didn’t answer, but I noticed he’d edged sideways so that his left shoulder was in front of me.

  “Why the devil did you allow me to be set up in here?” Daniel demanded of Moss. “Did you think me too stupid to twig to what was going on? My guvnor wouldn’t have sent an inexperienced underling to clear up a museum theft, one possibly tied to nationalist fanatics, but I suppose you didn’t understand that. You’ve let me learn who all the members of your gang are. I don’t care so much about them—they’re blokes trying to make a living. But Pilcher is the last straw, Moss.”

  “Why would I mind if you learned about villains?” Moss asked impatiently. “They deserve nothing more than the noose.”

  “’Ere,” Varley began, affronted.

  I said to Daniel, “He set you up here because Varley and the other thieves would bring you the stolen goods. And you would collect them and take them straight to Chief Inspector Moss. If anything went wrong, Moss could blame you.”

  “Oh, I know I would have been the scapegoat if it all went wrong,” Daniel said without heat. “Once Chief Inspector Moss had the antiquities, he could return them to Harmon, and I and my guvnor wouldn’t be the wiser. Weren’t you worried I’d get wind of that and report you?” he asked Moss.

  “That is why I brought in Pilcher.” Moss shrugged then turned abruptly to Varley. “Albert Varley, I am arresting you on suspicion of theft and for murdering one John Waters, a known thief; Mr. William Harmon; and Sir Evan Godfrey. Better not to fight, Varley. You won’t win.”

  “You wha’?” Varley’s mouth dropped open, showing his brown teeth. “I never went near Sir Evan Godfrey. He was a mark, wasn’t ’e? Never had much to do with Mr. ’Armon neither. I brought gear to the pawnbroker, who was a mate. That’s all.”

  “I suspect Lady Cynthia and I were right in the first place that Sir Evan killed Mr. Harmon,” I broke in. “Though evidence or a witness will have to be found to prove it conclusively. But that explanation fits. Sir Evan owed Mr. Harmon much money, and probably Mr. Harmon threatened to tell the world Sir Evan was selling his paintings to buy stolen antiquities. Sir Evan valued his reputation very highly.” I thought of the haughty photos of Sir Evan in India, the pride and arrogance, every inch, as Lady Cynthia had called him, the pukka sahib. “You are correct that Sir Evan would not have wanted to cut off the flow of antiquities, my lady, but sadly I believe he would have found another source without too much trouble. But then Daniel and I learned about the mummy powder, and I gave it to Detective Inspector McGregor, a conscientious man. Sir Evan might be arrested for murder, which would be a disaster for the gang and its leadership.”

  I remember Daniel saying to me Good lass, in a hearty tone, when I’d told him I’d given the bottle to McGregor, not Chief Inspector Moss.

  “And what a tale Sir Evan would tell to the magistrate,” Daniel finished. “So his wine or whisky or bedtime tonic was doctored.”

  “Chief Inspector Moss was in the house,” I pointed out, “most of the day.”

  “Good Lord,” Cynthia whispered.

  Varley looked bewildered. “What are you telling me, Tom?” he asked Daniel. “That you’re a copper? If you’re working for ’im, what does it matter? There’s no call to arrest me. I didn’t do nuffink.”

  “Mr. Varley is correct,” I put in. “Apart from stealing things, of course. Mr. Varley brought all sorts of items to this pawnshop, I am guessing, from what I heard the night he visited you. But he murdered no one.”

  “I don’t remember you being ’ere that night, missus.” Varley glared at me but then shrugged. “Don’t matter none. No one will listen to the likes of you.”

  “Very likely not,” I said. But they’d listen to Daniel.

  “I don’t work for Chief Inspector Moss,” Daniel told Varley. “I answer to another. You, Varley, it is true, didn’t actually do anything in this case. You and I chatted a number of times, but I never bought anything from you, and you never showed me any stolen items. I only needed you here today to confirm my suspicions about Chief Inspector Moss. I’d leave, were I you. Perhaps you should run a long way from London.”

  “Bleedin’ ’ell,” Varley said.

  He wasn’t a stupid man—slow perhaps, but no fool. Varley drew a breath, said, “Right you are, guv,” spun around, and headed for door.

  “No!” Moss went after him. Varley doubled his speed, making the street before Moss did.

  Varley nearly ran into a man larger than himself, the cold-eyed walking danger that was Mr. Pilcher. Pilcher grabbed at Varley, but Varley slid from his grasp and dodged into the crowd on the Strand, moving rapidly out of sight.

  James shot Daniel a questioning glance through the open door, but Daniel shook his head the slightest bit. Varley disappeared and was gone.

  Mr. Pilcher blocked the way out for the rest of us. “I also invited a friend to this gathering,” Chief Inspector Moss said smoothly. “Come in, Mr. Pilcher.”

  Pilcher’s bulk threw a
shadow as he filled the doorway, then he was inside, the door shut. He drew a thick knife from the pocket of his coat.

  “Which one you want done?” he asked, directing the question to Chief Inspector Moss. His glance fell on me before moving to Tess. “Cor, that’s a nice morsel,” he said, staring at Tess. “Can I ’ave ’er?”

  “Certainly not,” Moss answered, indignant. “But none of the women can leave here. You may make it look as though they were robbed, or toss them into the river—I don’t mind which you choose. But nothing that leads back to me. I’ll take care of McAdam.”

  25

  Daniel didn’t move. Though my heart was in my throat, Daniel, blast him, didn’t look either surprised or worried.

  “There would be plenty of inquiries about my death,” he said to Chief Inspector Moss, his tone deceptively mild. “From men far more frightening than Pilcher.”

  “I will say you were killed in the line of duty,” Moss answered, unconcerned. “You’ll be given a hero’s funeral. You went up against dangerous men, after all.”

  Pilcher was staring at Lady Cynthia, who had her arm around Tess, her chin up. “’S’truth, that’s not a bloke,” he said in amazement. “It’s a lass in trousers. Who’d ’ave thought? Can I ’ave ’er?”

  “Only if you want to be drawn and quartered,” Moss returned sternly. “She is the Earl of Clifford’s daughter, and he is a war hero. If you touch her, you’ll be roasted alive. So make sure she is still a virgin when she’s found.”

  “Huh,” Pilcher said. He kept staring at Cynthia, who gazed steadily back at him, her cheeks flushed.

  “Enough,” Daniel said firmly. “Give up, Moss. It’s over. I don’t know what your colleagues at the Yard will do to you, and I don’t much care. I only want Pilcher for a while. I’ll hand him in when I’m done.”

  I’d never heard Daniel speak so. He behaved as though he had the upper hand in the room, never mind Chief Inspector Moss, who was not denying he was up to his neck in the stolen antiquities scheme, and never mind Pilcher. The cool way Daniel studied Pilcher as he stated his intentions made me shiver.

  “Just let me kill ’im,” Pilcher said, impatient. “I didn’t like the way he talked to me before, and I don’t like ’im now.”

  Chief Inspector Moss sighed. “Oh, very well, go ahead.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a pistol.

  My throat closed up and I had the sudden desire to run, hide, dive over the counter—be anywhere but in front of the black barrel of that gun.

  The chief inspector did not immediately hand the gun to Pilcher. “You are correct about Sir Evan, Mrs. Holloway,” he told me. “He pretended the death of Mr. Harmon was an accident, but I knew he did it. He sent one of my workmen, if you please, to purchase poison for him, saying they needed to rid the garden shed they were working on of rats. My man did it and then reported it to me offhand, stupid geezer. Mr. Harmon had become a worry to Sir Evan. McAdam here is too perceptive, and it was my misfortune that one of the men Sir Evan poisoned turned out to be McAdam’s best mate. I reasoned McAdam would find some way to have Sir Evan arrested or at least questioned about the deaths, and I knew Sir Evan would give me up. And so . . .” The chief inspector spread his hands. “I had the run of the house, and you are correct that it was easy to put a dose into the bottle of whisky Sir Evan kept in his bedside table.”

  It chilled me the way he explained so calmly, the soldier outlining what must be done to win the battle.

  “Why on earth should you?” I asked before I could stop myself. “You are a chief inspector, a respected man with a long career.” Two careers if I was right about his army background. “You’ve done your duty well. Why spoil it now?”

  Chief Inspector Moss regarded me with pity. “Duty? What has my duty got me? You are young—you believe that if you drudge all your life for people who’d rather spit on you than give you a moment’s kindness you’ll somehow be rewarded. You will learn. Policemen, like domestics and tradesmen, are not allowed in the front door. Remember what I told you about Chief Inspector Turland? Worked his way up through the ranks, was lauded all around, and ended up a bitter old man eating tasteless food in his sister’s hovel. I’m not about to let that happen to me—in fact, I’m doing this to have something to give Turland and men like him. We arrest villains who steal far more in a day than any of us earn in a year. Why should they have what I can only dream of? Oh, wait a moment, you told me. I sacrifice it for my duty.”

  “And self-respect,” I said softly.

  I understood what he meant, however. I lived every day in opulent homes owned by people who had every privilege granted them. Meanwhile, I slaved for a pittance and was shouted at if I did not do it quickly enough.

  I could very well steal from these people, carefully so they would not know. I could hoard my spoils until I had enough to buy or hire the house I dreamed of to live in with Grace, or begin the shop we planned.

  But then I’d have to explain to Grace where I’d obtained the money, and I’d be ashamed. Not all the people in the glittering houses of Mayfair were horrible—Lady Cynthia, for instance—and not all of the privileged were wealthy and powerful—for example, Mr. Thanos. Some were beastly, of course, but this was why I chose my situations with care.

  Chief Inspector Moss had been rubbing elbows with criminals for so long—arresting them and interrogating them in small rooms like the one in which he’d had Pilcher at Scotland Yard—that he’d forgotten the difference between right and wrong.

  I hadn’t, and with Grace’s help, I would continue to remember.

  “Pilcher works for Naismith,” Daniel broke in. “Is he a part of this too? I doubt he’d have truck with helping a policeman, even if you are committing villainy. Naismith hates coppers more than he hates other villains on his patch.”

  Chief Inspector Moss’s eyes were flinty. “He lent Mr. Pilcher to me. We have an understanding.”

  “Which means you’ll go light on him,” Daniel finished for him. “You’ll inform him if any are coming after him—like me.” A coldness entered Daniel’s voice, the same one he’d taken on when Mr. Pilcher had first mentioned the name Naismith. “And for that, I’ll make sure you pay and pay and pay.”

  Moss gave Daniel a dismissive look, finished with his confessions. With the same chilling calmness, he turned to Mr. Pilcher. “Do the women when you are finished with McAdam. As I say, let nothing be traced back to me.”

  Daniel stepped all the way in front of me. “Kat, get them behind the counter,” he said swiftly.

  If he was ordering me to take Lady Cynthia and Tess into the back, he must know the door to it was unlocked, else he would not have suggested it. I thought about how the front door had been easily opened, which now led me to believe he’d already prepared the ground before we’d arrived.

  These conclusions flitted in my head, and I was about to shove Tess and Cynthia toward the counter, when I saw James.

  He was peering through one of the windows, his hands cupped around his face so he could see through the grimy glass. He caught sight of Moss training a gun on Daniel, and his eyes went wide. I shook my head at him, but James gave a wild shout and burst in through the door.

  Moss started, and in that moment, Daniel was on him. Pilcher swung around to meet the threat of James, who barreled into him. Pilcher, used to fighting, brought his knife hand up, but he met me and the pewter candlestick I’d caught up from one of the tables. I brought that instrument down hard on his arm, preventing the knife from going straight into James.

  James had enough sense to jump aside, and then he too grabbed a candlestick from the wares, a turned wooden one, and batted at Pilcher with it. Cynthia and Tess, instead of being rational and running into the street to summon constables, chose weapons of their own and laid into Pilcher. He batted and flailed, growling that it was like being attacked by flies. But enough flies can drive away a pred
ator.

  I turned to the more frightening threat of Moss. If he shot Daniel . . .

  Daniel grappled with Moss, holding Moss’s arm and neck in a wrestling lock. Moss fought like the soldier he was, reaching his other hand into a pocket, probably groping for another weapon. Before I could rush forward with my candlestick, Daniel let go on a sudden and crashed his fist into Moss’s face. Then he grabbed Moss’s pistol arm and dug his fingers hard into his wrist.

  Moss’s hand opened under Daniel’s pressure, and the pistol fell to the ground. It was a black thing, a revolver, its handle decorated with mother-of-pearl inlay that glistened softly in the shop’s dim light. I had always been intrigued by the fact that knives and pistols, instruments of destruction, could also be items of intricate beauty.

  I picked up the pistol.

  I would not shoot it, because I knew I had as much chance of hitting Daniel as I did Moss, and holding it made me feel a bit queasy.

  Moss looked at me in terror. “Put that down!” he commanded.

  Instead of obeying, I pointed the gun shakily at him. He froze, which gave Daniel the opportunity to hit him again. Moss’s head snapped back, but he jerked himself upright, and a blade flashed in his hand, slim and long, a stiletto.

  As I shouted at Daniel to take care, the room suddenly filled with constables. They came in through the front and surrounded Moss and Pilcher, who was still fighting, while a single man strode out from the back.

  This man had a fair mustache, rumpled clothing, and towering fury in his eyes. He moved to where Daniel and Moss struggled, clamped his hand on the back of Moss’s head, and yanked the man upright.

  “I beg your pardon, sir,” Detective Inspector McGregor said in a hard voice. “But I’m arresting you for theft, dealing in stolen goods, murder, fraud, and corruption. I’m sure I’ll think of more charges as we go. Constable, put cuffs on him, if you please.”