Lord Hammershield Dies (A Jules Poiret Mystery Book 3)
Page 4
"Why yes, I do!" Mrs. Reynolds agreed, slightly taken aback. "James had mine ready for me as usual before I came up.”
Poiret smiled. “That explains why you heard nothing that night, Madame Reynolds. Merci.” He bowed in her direction.
Mr. Reynolds sat down again.
“It does not however explain why Monsieur Reynolds, he does not hear the sounds.”
“What?” said Mr. Reynolds, angrily.
“Explain yourself, Monsieur.” Poiret moved closer to Mr. Reynolds.
“There is nothing to explain. I didn’t hear anything. I didn’t do anything.”
“Explain what you did that night, Monsieur.” Poiret came even closer.
“I just told you. Don’t you understand English?”
Mr. Reynolds stood up and though almost a foot taller than Poiret, there they stood eyeballing each other for a while. Then Mr. Reynolds threw his arms in the air.
“I can’t talk to this man,” he said and sat back down.
Poiret didn’t skip a beat. He addressed the whole room, "We now need to think of the motive. Who benefits from the murder?"
He looked at each person individually and then went back to Miss Faulkner.
“Mademoiselle Faulkner or should Poiret say Lady Hammershield?” Poiret didn’t wait for an answer. He took a document from his pocket and read, “To my beloved wife, who has brought happiness to my life, I bequeath everything.” Poiret pointed the will in Miss Faulkner’s direction. “You gain the most from the demise of the rich man. You took him as your husband only one month after meeting him, an old frail man, almost three times your age. What kind of woman are you?”
Haven moved forward. Giles stood up and both protested angrily. They looked at each other, then at Poiret and at Miss Faulkner. And so did the others. Both Haven and Giles moved back to their previous positions, embarrassed.
Miss Faulkner sat up and said with a dignity which surprised all, “You ask me, what kind of woman I am? Mr. Poiret, I’m a woman with four sisters all looking for suitable marriage partners and parents, who can give us everything, except for status and wealth.”
Poiret looked at her for a moment, then took Miss Faulkner’s hand and kissed it gently. “When you are my age, Madame, you will find out that the status and the wealth, they do not compare to true love.”
He was silent for a moment and then walked back to the fireplace. "Everyone in this room, they have the reasons to hate Lord Hammershield. Therefore, anyone of you may have killed him."
Poiret looked around the room.
"We must now look at a different question.” He put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a tie. It was the one he and Haven had found amongst Lord Hammershield's belongings. “To whom does this tie belong?"
"I say. Isn’t that the Trinity College tie?” said Haven leaning on the mantelpiece.
"It could be James's," said Giles. "He went to Trinity College.”
“So did you,” said Mr. Reynolds.
“I haven't brought mine with me,” said Giles. “Did you bring yours, old chap?"
James Reynolds looked a little startled. “No,” he said quickly.
“My late brother went to Trinity College in Cambridge also,” said Miranda. “Perhaps it belongs to him.”
“Madame, your son, he went to Cambridge, because your brother, he had gone there before him? That is a great tribute to your brother, n’est-ce pas?”
Poiret smiled a friendly smile, which she responded to by smiling back and nodding.
“But Monsieur Giles, he has more in common with his uncle, the late Lord Hammershield.” Poiret turned to Giles. He was no longer smiling. “You had the mutual friend, a young lady by the name of Diana?"
Giles went white. "What do you know about that?" he whispered fearfully.
"A little," replied Poiret, "Perhaps you can tell Poiret the rest."
Giles looked at Miss Faulkner, then looked down at the floor and began to speak. "I met Diana first. We liked each other. At least, I thought it was mutual. She met Lord Hammershield through me. I begged her to stay with me, to give me a chance to get my life in order. My life, I know was total chaos, but I never really had a reason to change, until then. Until I met her. When I heard of her again, she was in the presence of my uncle. I knew immediately he was in love with her, the old fool.”
“But why is the love of an old man for a woman foolish? Is it any different than the love of the younger man?” asked Poiret.
“It was clear to see that Miss Faulkner wasn’t in love with him. I didn’t know they had married until yesterday.”
He slumped in his chair. His mother walked over to him and put her hand on his back to console him.
"That is why you keep the picture and the lock of hair,” Poiret asked.
Giles nodded.
“Poiret, he has explained that everybody in this room, they have the motive to commit the crime, n’est-ce pas, Mrs. Monteith?”
Giles looked up. His mother froze.
“Madame, you have the most motives of all to see your brother dead and your son his heir.”
Giles protested, “That’s not true!”
Poiret took another set of documents out of his pocket. “These are the contracts to sell the ancestral estates of the Hammershields and the factories in Newcastle.”
“That means nothing,” she protested.
“It means everything, Madame! You would be homeless and with the marriage of your brother to a younger wife, your son, he will be penniless.”
“Mrs. Monteith killed her brother? I say!” said Haven incredulously.
“No, Haven,” said Poiret turning to him. “For if money is the motive then Mrs. St. Alban has the same motive. After Lord Hammershield, he sells everything to move to London to live with his new wife, she also loses her home and her daily meal at his table. That is the reason he keeps his plans a secret from his own family.”
Poiret turned to Mr. Reynolds. “You will lose the factory in Newcastle and having gone deeply into debt to build your mansion, you believe you deserve, now you face financial ruin.”
“Don’t start with me again, Poiret, for God help you if you do.”
“Poiret, he will not start with you again, Monsieur Reynolds. You are not the murderer, so despicable to kill a man in his bed. When Poiret he started with you earlier tonight, you could have hit out at Poiret, but you did not. You do not have the killer instinct, Monsieur Reynolds.”
Reynolds looked at Poiret intensely for a moment then he sighed and sat back. His wife took his hand in hers.
Poiret continued talking. “Neither did Mrs. Reynolds murder the lord. She was as she said under the influence of the sleeping pills.”
Poiret looked at Mrs. St. Alban. “Madame, how do you feel?”
“I’m feeling quite well,” she replied with a smile.
“Murdering your own brother, it has dealt your health a severe blow,” said Poiret without any emotion.
She leapt up, “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Poiret, he is sad to say that he does know of what he talks. The psychology, it never lies, Madame.” Poiret pointed at his head.
“Mrs. St. Alban? Can that be true?” said Haven.
“Mon ami,” replied Poiret, “It is true and Poiret, he can prove it. Madame St. Alban, she is the only one, who shows the violent emotional reaction, when she hears of the marriage of Lord Hammershield to Mademoiselle Faulkner. She now knows she has murdered her brother for nothing as his new wife, she will inherit everything.”
“Not true,” cried Mrs. St. Alban. “Is that your proof? A fainting spell? An old woman in a cold house, who just lost her brother to murder. Who cares for her? Who helps her?”
“Madame St. Alban,” said Poiret looking her in the eyes, “what should happen with a woman, who kills her brother for money?”
The old woman tried hard to breathe.
“What, Madame?” insisted Poiret.
“She should hang!” shouted Mrs. S
t. Alban as she fell back on her chair, exhausted.
Poiret took a handkerchief from his pocket. It contained pills.
“These sleeping pills, they were taken from Mrs. Reynolds’s room. That is the reason she has to buy more pills at the pharmacy here in town, even though she had enough pills, when she arrived here.”
Mrs. Reynolds and her husband looked at each other.
“Who steals the sleeping pills after the murder?” Poiret continued. “Someone who wants to sleep? Or maybe someone, who wants to put someone else to sleep? Forever! Like the wife of her dead brother, who stands in the way of her inheritance.”
Miss Faulkner gasped for air.
Poiret stretched his hand with the pills towards Mrs. St. Alban. All could see the tablets. “Poiret, he finds the pills in your room, Madame.”
The room fell silent. There was a knock on the door. No one moved.
Poiret turned to Haven, “Haven, if you please.”
Haven, still stunned slowly moved to the door and left. A few seconds later he reappeared. Inspector Watkins of Scotland Yard was with him.
“Poiret, I should’ve known you’d be here,” said Watkins warmly.
“Mon cher Inspector Watkins,” replied Poiret shaking his hand with the same warmth. “What are you doing here?”
“A peer of the realm was murdered in his bed. Where else should a Scotland Yard inspector be? Where do we start with the investigation, Poiret?”
“At the end for sure, mon ami.” Poiret sighed and walked to the window. He looked into the silent, snow covered night.
Later that night Miss Faulkner joined Captain Haven in the garden. For a moment they stood quietly watching the night sky and enjoying the comparative calm outside after the tension of the evening.
“Giles asked me to marry him. I accepted,” she suddenly blurted out.
Haven did not respond.
“Say something.”
“You have the money and now you have the title too,” he said bitterly.
“You’re not fair to me.”
“You’re not fair to yourself. Are you in love with him?”
“I accepted his proposal,” she answered.
Haven looked at her, “For your sisters’ sake?”
“No,” she said determined. “After hearing Mrs. St. Alban’s reasons for killing her brother, I did it for my sake.” She walked away.
Haven looked at her disappearing in the falling snow. He grabbed some snow from the ground, made a snow ball and angrily threw it into the darkness.
“Mon Dieu!”
Haven heard and saw an angry Poiret appear through the falling snow removing the remnants of the snow ball from his face and hat.
“Haven, enough of this snow! We must go back now to the good dining prepared by my butler Gustav in the warm apartment in London.”
Haven laughed. He couldn’t agree more.
THE END
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