Silence in the Library

by Katharine Schellman

  Mr. Page had returned to his desk, and he braced his hands on it as he regarded them. “Why didn’t you believe Lady Wyatt when she sent him to comfort the maid? A personable young man could talk sense into an impressionable girl.”

  Lily raised her own brows in response. “Because, not only is Mr. Percy Wyatt not a personable young man, it was Ellen’s brother who very nearly took the blame for his theft.” She frowned, a thought clicking into place. “It must have been the younger brother, Arthur. Ellen said that he was principally in her charge.”

  Jack’s feet thumped on the floor as he sat up. “Asking Percy to go see Ellen must have been Lady Wyatt’s way of telling him to see to Arthur. They were all quite active participants in deceiving you on that point, Page.”

  “Speaking of Lady Wyatt once more”—Mr. Page studied Lily—“did her grief seem truthful to you? At times it seemed overwrought to me. And there were several moments where it seemed she forgot to be grieving and was angry or defensive instead …”

  “Well, grief is an unpredictable thing,” Lily pointed out slowly, considering her words as she spoke. “For her to experience so much grief and shock together, so quickly, and then to be confronted with strangers in her home … it would not be unnatural to be overwrought. But”—she held up her hand when both Jack and Mr. Page tried to speak—“there were times when her grief seemed almost like a performance. When she seemed an entirely different woman from the one we met the day before. But if it was indeed a performance, it may have been intended to hide a different kind of guilt.”

  Mr. Page frowned. “Explain.”

  Lily told them of her conversation with the gossiping ladies in the confectioner’s shop. “If she was indeed a woman who had married for comfort and not love, who went out of her way to appear affectionate to her husband in public but couldn’t bring herself to share his bed, would that not lead to a deep sort of guilt? That she had not loved him better when he was alive, that she could not grieve him as well as she knew she should once he was gone?”

  “It could,” Mr. Page agreed slowly, looking thoughtful. “Though it doesn’t account for her lying.”

  “Do people never lie to you out of fear—not that they will be exposed as criminals, but that they will be accused wrongly because of a horrible coincidence?”

  He raised his brows. “You sound as though you want to persuade me of her innocence, Mrs. Adler.”

  “I am merely pointing out the possibilities,” she said. “I feel for her. It is a terrible thing to lose a husband. And for her, the circumstances were far more shocking than anything I had to deal with.”

  “That is true. But, Mrs. Adler …” The Bow Street constable hesitated, then said gently, “I hope you’ll excuse me, ma’am, but there’s every chance your own sympathy may cloud your perception.” His voice became firmer. “Lady Wyatt will have to answer for her conduct herself, and I’ll judge her explanation then.”

  Lily’s hands clenched at her sides as he spoke, and her eyes grew wide with outrage at his presumption.

  But he was right. Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “Of course, Mr. Page,” she said. “Lady Wyatt alone can and should explain her conduct.”

  His look of surprise nearly made her throw up her hands in exasperation. “I was expecting more argument than that,” he admitted.

  “Would you prefer it?” she snapped, annoyed when he chuckled.

  “No, thank you, ma’am. I can see well enough that you’re furious with me for saying it, so I appreciate your restraint.”

  “There is something you have not yet considered, though,” Lily pointed out archly, refusing to get caught in a debate with him over how she was feeling. “Lady Wyatt injured her arm during the afternoon that Captain Hartley and I were there.”

  “That’s a fair point, Page,” Jack put in. “She seemed quite laid up with it. At one point, Mr. Frank Wyatt tried to take her arm to help her stand, and it seemed to cause her a great deal of pain. Even had she been able to bash a man’s head in—”

  “Captain,” Mr. Page barked, glancing at Lily.

  She shrugged. The description made her feel ill, but she would never have admitted it to either man. “The captain’s point stands. She might well have been able to swing a poker, but I don’t see how she could have dragged a man across half the room. Especially not without leaving blood everywhere.”

  Mr. Page sighed. “So Lady Wyatt was physically unable, Frank Wyatt was physically absent, and Percy Wyatt is unaccounted for. As is the younger brother.” He eyed them both, looking almost grumpy. “And that is all I can share with you. Do you have anything else you wished to tell me?”

  “I can see if my father knows anything else. They were friends.” Lily scowled and muttered, “Or as close as my father comes to having friends.”

  For a moment, Mr. Page looked curious, but the expression was quickly hidden behind a no-nonsense scowl. He nodded. “If he can shed any light on Sir Charles’s life these last few years, it might help me discover what reason someone might have for murdering him. Here.” Pulling a scrap of paper from his desk, he wrote something on it quickly before holding it out to Lily. “My home address. So you may reach me quickly with what you learn and not be tempted to more than merely asking questions.” Crossing to the door, he gave them a self-mocking smile as he opened it for them. “So much for my intention of keeping you out of it. I’m still not sure I like it.”

  “A wise man uses the tools at his disposal,” Lily murmured, tucking the paper in her reticule as she nudged Jack to his feet. As they pushed back their chairs, her sleeve caught the small stack of papers on the desk, dislodging several and sending them sliding to the floor. “Oh, I beg your pardon, sir,” she said, bending down to gather them up.

  “And she would just poke around behind your back if you did not give her a task,” Jack said cheerfully, earning him a glare from Lily. He shrugged in response, unbothered, and she snorted as she turned her back on the men by the door to replace the papers and cards on the desk.

  When she turned back a moment later, Mr. Page was shaking his head. “But you are to limit yourself to inquiries only. No returning to the Wyatt home for more searching under the family’s noses; do I make myself clear?”

  “Of course, sir,” Lily said as he held the door open for them. “I shall stay away from Wimpole Street.” At his frankly skeptical look, she smiled. “I’d not dream of putting myself in danger. Or in your way.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Lily eyed the building in front of her warily and took a deep breath. She had never attempted to practice this sort of deception before, but there was a first time for everything.

  “Are you sure it’s a good idea, Mrs. Adler?” Anna whispered from her spot behind Lily’s shoulder, where she was hovering anxiously.

  The answer was no, but Lily had no intention of saying that out loud. “It will be perfectly all right,” she said instead, smoothing down the folds of her black gown just to have something to do with her shaking hands. It was strange to be dressed for full mourning again, but at least she still had plenty of clothing to choose from.

  Jem, Jack’s young servant, had come with them to Bow Street, and it was he who had waited outside, holding the leads of the horses hitched to their hired carriage and crooning to them softly while the driver took a nap on the seat. When they finally emerged, Lily asked Jack if she could borrow the boy’s services for a few errands, and neither the captain nor Jem made any objection.

  She almost changed her mind before they made it to Half Moon Street, her conscience pricking at her not to involve Jem. But she wasn’t going to ask him to do anything particularly dangerous, she reasoned with herself, wondering briefly if this was how Mr. Page felt every time she insisted on involving herself where he didn’t want her.

  It had been a simple matter to take note of Percy Wyatt’s address when she righted the papers on Mr. Page’s desk. Lily had bought a pair of men’s mourning gloves on Bond Street, then had the parcel wrapped
and sent Jem to deliver it to Mr. Percy Wyatt on Harley Street.

  From what she knew of young men in London, it was unlikely that he would be spending his afternoon at home. Whether he would be assisting his family at the house on Wimpole Street or loitering at his club, Lily didn’t know young Mr. Wyatt well enough to say. But she had no intention of barging in without knowing for certain that he was gone, so she and Anna waited in Cavendish Square Gardens while Jem played the role of delivery boy.

  Instead of telling him who it was for, she had folded the paper with Percy Wyatt’s name on it and slid it under the string that wrapped the parcel. Jem fortunately hadn’t asked any questions and had gone whistling off with the parcel under his arm, returning not more than ten minutes later to say he had left the package with the housekeeper, who’d told him that the gentleman it was for was not at home and not expected back for the rest of the afternoon.

  When Lily thanked the boy and handed him a small tip, he pocketed it quickly but gave her a concerned look. “Am I telling the captain about this, ma’am?”

  Lily hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I’ve nothing to hide, Jem. Tell him what you wish.”

  “He mayn’t like knowing that you’re sending parcels to strange gentlemen,” Jem said, looking severe, though he had to look up to do it, as he was still quite a bit shorter than she was.

  “I assure you, it will not concern him in the slightest,” Lily said. It would have been less risky to hire a delivery boy from the shop than to ask Jem for his help, but then she wouldn’t have been able to get a report on the recipient’s whereabouts. The best she could do was to convince Jem that he didn’t need to tell Jack anything before she had a chance to tell him herself. “Thank you for your help, Jem. Off you go.”

  He had given her another concerned look but obeyed. Which left Lily and Anna, not five minutes later, standing before the Harley Street lodging house—Rooms for Gentlemen, Mrs. Davies, Proprietress proclaimed the discreet sign on the wrought-iron fence—where Percy Wyatt lived.

  “Remember, not a word to the contrary, no matter what you hear me claim,” Lily warned her maid in an undertone as they climbed the steps. “I need you to help me look respectable.”

  “Probably shouldn’t be going into a men’s lodging house, then,” Anna muttered.

  Lily deliberately ignored the comment as she rapped on the door. Disapproving mutters were an unavoidable consequence of having a maid who had known her since she was a schoolgirl. But she knew Anna would do as she asked all the same.

  The housemaid who answered the door was very young, probably not more than fourteen, and she looked shocked to find two women, one of them elegantly dressed in mourning clothes, waiting on the stoop. “Can I help you?” she asked uncertainly.

  Lily held out the card she had taken from Mr. Page’s desk, which had Lady Wyatt’s name elegantly printed across it. “I am Mr. Percy Wyatt’s aunt,” she said gravely. “I believe he lodges here, does he not?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am, Lady Wyatt,” the housemaid said, curtsying quickly. “But I’m afraid he isn’t here at the moment.”

  “Oh yes, of course, I know. He is attending to some family affairs. As you see, we have suffered a loss,” Lily said gravely, making a slight gesture toward her gown.

  “Oh! Of course, you have my sympathies, ma’am,” the housemaid said quickly. “But—”

  “My nephew had a parcel misdelivered, and I am here to retrieve it for him,” Lily said quickly, trying to sound the right degree of superior. Just enough and she could elegantly bully her way inside; too much and she would put the maid’s back up and be sent away. “If you would show me to his rooms, I can do so quickly.”

  The housemaid still hesitated. While Lily was trying to decide whether grief or displeasure would be more persuasive, Anna jumped in. “Lady Wyatt is not accustomed to being kept waiting at the door,” she said in an undertone.

  The housemaid blushed and scurried backward, holding the door open wide. “Of course, Lady Wyatt. I beg your pardon, truly. Come in, please, I’ll show you right up. I’m sure Mrs. Davies won’t mind.”

  Lily inclined her head regally as the girl stood aside for them. When the housemaid’s back was turned to close the door again, Lily gave Anna a quick, grateful smile, receiving a stern look in response that was almost ruined by the smile her maid was trying to hide. Together they followed the young housemaid up the stairs.

  The inside of the lodging house was well kept, elegant enough to appeal to the sons of gentlemen without being ostentatious. The bottom floor, Lily guessed, would be the rooms of the proprietress, with the men living in the upper rooms.

  And indeed, as the housemaid led them down the hall, Lily glimpsed small plaques on the doors, each bearing the name of the gentleman living within. They stopped toward the far end, in front of the door labeled Mr. Wyatt.

  The housemaid knocked. “Mr. Wyatt? Begging your pardon, sir, are you at home?” When there was no answer, she turned an earnest smile toward Lily. “We always have to check, you see. Just to be sure. No gentleman likes to have the maids barging in on him.”

  “Of course, my dear,” Lily said warmly, happy to reassure the girl that she had done the right thing in letting them in. “My nephew always says this is such a well-run establishment. You must be proud to work in such a place.”

  “Mrs. Davies is most particular,” the girl agreed as she unlocked the door. “She takes real good care of her gentlemen, she does. I’m lucky she took me on.” As she swung the door open, she stood back and looked at them expectantly.

  Lily strode across the threshold of the room as confidently as possible, though inside she was scrambling a little. She had hoped the girl would unlock the door and then leave them for a few moments, giving her a chance to look through Percy Wyatt’s things. But it seemed the maid was too well trained for that; she might be convinced to let a lady in, but she knew better than to let strangers go through one of the gentlemen’s rooms without supervision.

  A quick glance around was enough to take in the room; it was arranged as a sitting room, with a comfortable set of chairs by the window, a small shelf of books, and a sideboard. The room had been freshly cleaned and smelled of lemons and beeswax polish. There was no smell of smoke, and no decanters of liquor that she could see, though there was a place for them on the sideboard. Either Mr. Wyatt limited his vices to gambling or he couldn’t afford to keep those vices stocked in his home.

  Lily could see the parcel Jem had delivered sitting on the sideboard as well, but she made a small hmm noise and stepped briskly into the adjoining room, muttering, “Where could he have put it?” just loudly enough for the maid to hear.

  The next room was a bedroom, of course, with a tidily made bed against one wall and a tall chest of drawers opposite. A desk sat under the windows; Lily glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one in the other room could see her, then stepped over to examine it. It held very little except a blotter, pen, and inkwell; no papers were scattered over the top, no diary had been left out. Even the open cubbies along the back were empty of papers or cards. Lily scowled. Percy Wyatt was too tidy for her taste. She slid open one of the narrow drawers next to the cubbies as carefully as possible, wincing as it squeaked slightly.

  That was more profitable. Lily smiled in triumph as she found a stack of letters, addressed on the outside to Mr. Percy Wyatt in a beautiful feminine hand. There was no direction written on them, which would mean they had been delivered by hand—by someone in London, if they were recent? She reached for one, intending to check the signature and date.

  “Did you find it, Lady Wyatt?”

  Lily just barely managed not to jump at the sound of the young maid’s voice. She slid the drawer closed as quickly as possible before turning back to look at the girl. “I’m afraid not,” she said. “But I am so very impressed with the order of this room. Do you have the cleaning of it?”

  The girl beamed. “Me’n Sarah, the other housemaid,” she said, her bright blu
sh clashing adorably with her red hair. “You’re kind to approve, Lady Wyatt.”

  Compliments were never a bad idea when fishing for information, Lily decided. She gave the girl as warm a smile as she felt she could get away with while supposedly being in mourning. “Well, if you ever tire of your position here, I should be happy to offer you one myself.”

  The girl swelled with pleasure at the praise as they returned to the front room, and Lily, struck by sudden inspiration, added as carelessly as possible, “That is, of course, if my nephew’s sleeplessness hasn’t been too much trouble for you. I know he can come and go at odd hours. He mentioned that it had been particularly bad this week.”

  She had no idea if Percy Wyatt did suffer from trouble sleeping, of course. But she wanted to know if the staff had noticed him coming and going the night of Sir Charles’s murder.

  The girl giggled. “Oh, is that what it is? I know gentlemen keep odd hours, of course, but he takes the cake, if you’ll excuse me saying so, ma’am. There’s seven gentlemen live here, and he’s nearly always the last one home for the night. And when I say night, I mean mornings. Why, only yesterday morning, I seen him coming in the front door when I had just got up to lay the fires!” The girl laughed and then, spotting the package on the sideboard, asked, “Oh, is that your parcel, ma’am? Let me fetch it for you.”

  Lily accepted it without really knowing what she was doing. Her heart felt like it stopped for a moment. Percy Wyatt had claimed he had returned home at midnight and gone immediately to bed the night his uncle died. But if the maid was to be believed, he had been out until nearly five o’clock in the morning.

  She wanted to press the girl for more information, but a quick glance at Anna, hovering anxiously by the door to the hall, made her change her mind. They didn’t know when Percy would be coming back, and Lily didn’t want to press her luck. Instead she smiled and nodded her thanks. “Yes, I believe that is the one. If you would—”