by Robyn DeHart
James nodded. “This isn’t a social call. I’m here on official Metropolitan Police business.”
“Police business, with my parents? I don’t see the connection.”
“I appreciate your position, Mr. Mabson, but I really must insist. I’m investigating a murder and I believe your parents were acquainted with the victim. It is really quite imperative that I speak with them. You may remain in the room if you like.”
Edmond eyed him for a moment longer, then finally nodded. He led the inspector past the front parlor and further down the hall, stopping at a door. “How much has Willow told you about our mother?”
James frowned. “Not much.” He kept his wording evasive. If Edmond knew that Willow had told James precisely nothing of her mother, it might increase Edmond’s distrust. “Only that she has some sort of illness and must stay home.”
Edmond’s features tensed and he inhaled sharply. “My mother suffers from mania, Inspector. It is not widely known among Society, and I know you have ties in that area and we’d implore you to keep your observations to yourself.”
James’s heart pounded hard and heavy in his chest. So this was Willow’s secret. His stomach tightened. Perhaps he should have spoken to Willow first, but it was too late now—he was here.
He nodded reassuringly to Edmond. “I can assure you that everything in my interrogations remains confidential.” That wasn’t always the truth, but in today’s situation, he would make it so. “I only need to ask them a few questions.” If she was mad as they said, then she could be quite capable of the crime at hand. A myriad of emotions scattered through his mind over that possibility. Willow would never forgive him. And that thought nearly made him cease his pursuit.
He might be unorthodox with his procedures, but at the end of the day, he was loyal to his duties as an inspector. Surely his position and pursuit of the killer of Mr. Drummond were more important than a woman’s forgiveness. But if that were true, why then, did he feel as if he were betraying a dear friend?
Edmond put his hand on the doorknob and twisted it, but did not open the door. “I’m afraid I should warn you that she’s having a rough go of it today. I’d appreciate your understanding and would hope you would be sensitive to the situation.”
James swallowed. “Of course,” he assured Edmond.
Edmond opened the door, but did not admit James entry. “Father,” Edmond said as he entered the room. “Inspector Sterling would like to speak to you and Mother about a current investigation.” Willow’s brother stood in the doorway, completely blocking James’ view of the interior. Apparently both Mabson siblings were hell-bent on protecting their family.
He couldn’t blame them. He would no doubt do the same. As ridiculous as he found his mother, he would protect her should the need arise.
“Edmond! Come in and visit with your mother. I have missed you so.”
“In a little while, Mother, I promise,” Edmond said.
He heard a man’s voice but could not decipher what was said. Edmond stepped aside and opened the door wider. James walked into the bright room and was greeted by Lord Saddler.
“Inspector,” he said.
“Viscount Saddler,” James said.
The viscount led his wife over from the window. “This is my wife, Agatha.” He leaned closer to the woman’s face. “This is Inspector Sterling. He’s with the police.”
Her pale green eyes widened, and she clapped her hands. “An inspector! Oh, how exciting. Where is dear Willow? She would absolutely love this.” She looked around the room searching for her daughter.
James could tell she had once been a beautiful woman, and while the years hadn’t necessarily been unkind to her, her eyes had taken on a glassy, faraway look. But he could very much see Willow in her.
“Willow’s not here right now, remember?” Lord Saddler said.
She smiled knowingly. “Of course I remember. Edmond, go find Mary and have her fetch some tea and cakes for our visitor.” She linked her arm with James’ and led him over to the sofa. “Have a seat,” she patted the cushion next to her. “Why on earth are you visiting us?” Then her hand flew to her throat. “Oh, gracious, are we in danger? Is someone after us?”
James tried to give her a reassuring smile. “No, nothing like that. I’m investigating a murder and I believe you might have known the victim.”
Lord Saddler sat in an adjoining chair and laced his fingers together. “Who is the victim?”
“Malcolm Drummond.”
“The photographer,” Charles said. “Yes, I read about that in the paper. He was not a very old man, such is the pity.”
“Yes, sir. We found a journal in his belongings and he writes of many women.” James knew Willow would be extremely angry with him for this visit. She would view it as a betrayal, even though he was doing all he could to make it as pleasant and painless as possible.
“Malcolm is dead?” Agatha said softly. Her eyes filled with tears and she held her hand out to her husband, who reached forward and grabbed on to it. “I had no idea. I wish I had seen him one last time.”
She was like a sad child. James’s tomach tightened. “So you did know him?” James asked.
“Yes, we knew him,” Charles said tightly. “Agatha sat for several photographs. We have them, if you’d like to see them.”
James nodded. “He wrote often in his journal about a woman named Agatha and I wondered if it might be you.”
“Me? He wrote about me?” she asked with a smile. “How flattering. What could he have possibly said about me?”
It was unclear from the words in the journal as to whether or not there had been an affair or if the man’s feelings were the only ones involved. “He was rather fond of you,” was all James said on the matter.
“Do you want some tea and cakes, Inspector?” Agatha asked. “I can send Mary for some.”
“No. Thank you, madam.”
He only had a few more questions and then he could leave and time his entrance back to meet up with Willow. He would tell her he’d visited with them, as he was certain her mother would mention it. But he wanted to get her alone first so he would have a chance to explain.
The meeting was slow to start because Meg, as usual, was late. Willow tried to suppress her annoyance because she was rather eager to be somewhere other than here.
“Oh, Meg, I received your invitation to the masque ball yesterday and it’s so beautiful,” Charlotte said.
“No doubt it will lure the Jack of Hearts. He’ll find it irresistible and we’ll finally catch a glimpse of him,” Amelia said.
“I suspect this will be the party of the Season,” Charlotte said.
Meg giggled breathlessly before collapsing on a chair. “If the planning doesn’t kill us all first. I swear Gareth’s aunt is the most persnickety woman I have ever encountered. Not to mention fickle. She’s changed the color theme three times already.” She waved a hand in front of her face. “Enough about that, though.”
Willow scanned the faces of her friends. Regardless of her preoccupation, she loved these meetings. They were good friends, all of them. It seemed ironic, somehow, that she and Charlotte would be the ones left unmarried. She, the plainest woman among them, and Charlotte, arguably the most beautiful woman in all of London.
Her gaze landed on Amelia and the sparkle in her eyes indicated she hid some sort of secret. “Amelia, dear,” Willow said. “You look positively bursting at the seams. What secret are you holding in?”
Amelia squealed. “‘Lady Shadows,’ the first story, is to be printed.” She clapped her hands under her chin. “I still can not believe it.” She held her arm out to Willow. “Pinch me.”
Willow laughed. “I will not pinch you, silly.” Instead she leaned in and hugged her friend. “I’m so very proud of you.”
“We always knew it would happen,” Meg said.
“This is so wonderful, Amelia,” Charlotte said. “You must be so thrilled.”
“Thank you. I never would h
ave accomplished any of this had each of you not encouraged me and forced me to pursue this.”
“Not to mention you found your husband in the process,” Meg pointed out.
“Yes, you can’t forget that. And went on some amazing adventures,” Charlotte said.
“All in the name of research,” Amelia said with a smile. “I’ll let you know the exact details as soon as I receive them.”
After another round of congratulations and a fresh cup of tea, the room quieted down.
“Willow, how fares the investigation with the devilish inspector?” Charlotte asked, breaking their comfortable silence.
She tried to ignore the hard thumping of her heart at the mention of James. With one hand she smoothed her skirts. “We’re making slow progress. We’ve made a list of people to interrogate, but in all honesty, there don’t seem to be very many clues. Did any of you have any luck discovering anything of interest?”
Meg shook her head. “I’m afraid no one of my acquaintance knew him.”
“I didn’t have any luck either,” Amelia said.
“All I found out was what we already knew: Malcolm Drummond was well liked,” Charlotte said. “I would have loved to sit for a photograph with him. He was really all the rave.”
“Indeed,” Willow agreed. “Well liked, yet still murdered. Someone harbored him ill will—we simply can’t figure out who that might be. I thank you all for trying.”
“You’ll unravel the mystery sooner or later,” Amelia said. “You and James are both quite clever.”
“And is the inspector behaving himself? Is he the reprobate you always imagined he would be?” Meg asked with a smile.
“I admit he has been on his best behavior,” she said. With the exception of mentioning that he desired to kiss her. A conversational tidbit she had tried desperately to rid her mind of, much to her defeat. It was a nasty ruse, she reminded herself. “I’m certain he won’t be able to maintain these good manners.”
“Oh, Willow, don’t be so negative. Perhaps James isn’t as bad as you once thought,” Amelia offered.
Amelia was right. James wasn’t entirely the man she’d imagined him to be. Yes, he could be brutal with suspects, but did some of them not deserve it? And evidently he paid a man to dig up information, but were it not for those funds, how would that man eat? She had not seen enough yet; he might have some excusable behavior, but perhaps not all of it was so. She simply was not willing to admit complete defeat as of yet. “He’s extremely arrogant,” Willow said.
Amelia nodded. “But aren’t they all? I mean all men? Aren’t most of them arrogant to a degree? I know Colin is. He is certain that he is right most of the time. When we all know that that simply isn’t the case.” She smiled warmly. “But he is quick to apologize when he sees the error of his ways.”
“Gareth is certainly arrogant. And stubborn.” Meg made a small oof sound.
Charlotte chuckled. “He’s good for you.”
“You just wait,” Meg warned.
“Yes, yes, I’ll heed your warning. You can all have a good chuckle someday when my parents reach their limit and saddle me with some old lecher,” Charlotte said.
“Now, how could that possibly happen?” Willow asked.
“I suspect my insolence in failing to accept any of the proposals I’ve received thus far is wearing on my poor father’s nerves. If either Frannie or myself doesn’t marry soon, he’s likely to sell one of us to the highest bidder. Maybe I should flee to the Americas. I’m sure many adventures await there.”
“Don’t be so theatrical, Charlotte,” Willow chided. “I seriously doubt your father will sell either you or your sister.”
She sighed dramatically. “You’re probably right,” Charlotte agreed. “So tell us, have you asked the good detective how close the Yard is to identifying the Jack of Hearts? Surely they know more than we do.”
Willow felt her ears go hot. She was embarrassed that the thought had never entered her mind. What was so different? There was a time she wouldn’t have wasted any time at all before asking such a question. She had simply been distracted. “We haven’t discussed the Jack of Hearts. But I’ll be sure to probe and see what I discover.”
Speaking of which, she should really go. She needed to get home before James arrived.
“I really must go. I apologize for having to leave so soon. But Mother’s been having a rough day and I hate to leave poor Papa alone with her for long. He loves her so, but I know he hates to see her like that.”
“Do you still believe she’s getting worse?” Amelia asked.
Willow sighed. “I’m not certain what to believe. Some days it seems as if she’s lost forever, but other days, she’s calm and mentally acute. The doctor keeps suggesting we give her laudanum when she has her episodes, but I hate the thought of her living in a fog like that. Papa agrees with the doctor.” She shook her head. “She deserves better, though.”
“You take excellent care of her,” Charlotte said. “But she is not your sole responsibility. Remember that.”
“Not now,” Willow agreed. “But she will be someday.” She smiled at them, then pointed at Charlotte. “I’ll be sure to ask about the Jack of Hearts.”
Chapter 8
Willow stood in the entryway straining to hear the flurry of voices, but could not make out any words. An unrecognizable baritone voice took up part of the conversation. Funny, she didn’t think Edmond sounded that way, even through walls and doors. She followed the sound to her mother’s parlor.
Upon opening the door she saw James sitting adjacent to her mother and promptly dropped her umbrella. It crashed to the wood floor, causing everyone in the room to look up at her.
“Inspector?” she said.
He seemed less surprised to see her, but some undeterminable emotion crossed his features. Heat filled the pit of her stomach, turning her breakfast over and threatening nausea. He said nothing to her, but went back to his conversation with her parents.
Willow eyed her mother, then moved closer to stand at her side. No one outside of the family, except for her closest friends, had seen her in years. It was simply too risky. What had she said to him? What had James witnessed when he’d stepped into this parlor?
“I thought we agreed upon two o’clock.” She glanced at the mantel clock, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. “That’s still more than an hour away.”
“Willow, please,” he said softly.
“May I inquire as to what this is about?” Willow asked. She watched her mother worry the fabric of her dress in between her hands. Willow smoothed her mother’s black hair in an effort to soothe her.
James met her gaze. He took a deep breath. “This is part of the investigation. I thought it would be best to handle it without you.”
Her stomach seemed to fall to the floor. “The investigation? With my parents? It most certainly does concern me then. What made you think it would be best to handle it without me?”
“Willow, this isn’t necessary,” her father said gently. “The inspector is merely doing his job. No harm has come.”
“Papa, I know Inspector Sterling and I’m certain he’ll explain himself. You and poor Mama should not be subjected to this,” she said.
“All is well, dear, I promise,” her mother said. The handsome inspector was just telling us about a dreadful murder.” Her forehead wrinkled with worry. “I simply can’t believe Malcolm is dead.”
Willow whipped her head around to face him. She was unable to decipher his expression on his chiseled face. “You mean that investigation?” she asked. “Why do you need to speak with my parents about that?”
“Perhaps we could discuss this in private.” His voice was tight as he rose from his seat, and she suspected his suggestion wasn’t up for negotiation.
She nodded and excused them from the parlor.
Once they reached the hallway, he pushed his hair back from his eyes and sighed heavily. “I was trying to—”
“Do this without me
. Yes, I gathered that.”
“No, I was trying to handle this without you becoming upset.” He paced along the hallway a bit before coming to a halt. “I knew if I mentioned this to you first, you would not allow me to speak directly to your mother. I needed to do this. I needed to do my job. Surely you can agree with that.”
She shook her head. Was he trying to protect her? Out of some misguided chivalry? “I’m confused as to how my mother’s name got involved. She wasn’t on anything we discussed yesterday.”
“We still need to see the photographs to make sure we include all of the women involved in the questioning. But I already have a list to start off with,” he explained.
“Where did you get it?”
“From a journal. I found Drummond’s journal in his studio, and in it are pages of entries about women. Your mother’s name is mentioned more than any other.”
Willow balanced herself against the wall behind her. “He mentions my mother by name? And you never said anything to me about your finding the journal?”
James took an even breath. “All the women he writes about, he merely uses their first names.”
“Agatha is a common-enough name,” she said, folding her arms over her chest.
“Yes, it is. But he described her, Willow. In great detail. And you heard her in there.” He pointed over his shoulder. “She knew him.”
Her world seemed to stop moving. There were no other sounds than the ticking of the clock on the opposite wall and her breathing. “Are you saying that my mother is a suspect?” She tried to keep calm, but she could feel her heart beating faster and panic flooding her veins. Her parents involved. That was preposterous.
“There’s no reason to become alarmed,” he assured her.
She nodded absently.
A pulse flickered in James’s cheek; it was so small she almost didn’t notice. Oh, God. Her knees buckled underneath her and his hand reached out and steadied her.
“Don’t touch me,” she said, quickly recovering and stepping away from him.
“I never said anything about anyone being a suspect. I only wanted to speak to her about her relationship with the photographer,” he said.
