“Oh, Charlotte.” Amelie smiled at her cousin. “I know, and I am grateful. I am confused, though—until now you’ve seemed to like Mr. Radcliffe well enough.”
“That was before I heard him speak at length about his life. He seemed . . .” She sighed. “He seemed as though he wanted to leave you with a good impression, though perhaps that’s all he intended. I am cynical; my brothers have ruined me.” She smiled and stretched, a small yawn escaping.
“I’m for bed,” Eva said through a yawn of her own. “Tomorrow will be busy—”
She was interrupted by a brisk knock at the front door. Firm footsteps soon sounded on the hallway from the back of the house, and Mrs. Burnette appeared, eyeing the three girls in the parlor with a slight frown. “At this hour!” she said, as though they were at fault.
Amelie glanced at the clock on the mantel—ninety minutes remained before Hampton House’s doors officially closed for the evening. She hurried to the parlor’s door and peeked around the corner.
The housekeeper opened the door, paused, and then exchanged a few words before stepping back to reveal the tall form of Detective Baker. Curiously, Amelie felt her heart jump. As he came in from the rain, he removed his hat and subtly shook fine droplets from his coat.
Mrs. Burnette glared at the new spots on the floor, but held out her hand for his things. “Miss Hampton is already in the parlor,” she said crisply, gesturing to the room.
Amelie gasped and hurried back to the sofa. Her cousins looked at her curiously.
Appearing in the doorway of the parlor, Mrs. Burnette addressed Amelie. “Mr. Baker to see you, Miss Hampton. Shall I have Katie prepare another tea?”
Anxiety churned in her chest. How on earth would she fool her cousins again about the detective’s charade? She’d already lied to them while explaining away the tension that had clearly been visible between her and Mr. Baker the night of the play. “He is as aggravating as my brother,” she had finally told Charlotte, whose suspicion over the whole relationship had been apparent.
“Yes, Mrs. Burnette,” Amelie said, “please send Katie with a fresh pot of tea.”
Mr. Baker waited patiently behind Mrs. Burnette, but having just spent a lovely time with Mr. Radcliffe, Amelie felt her hackles raise in preparation for Mr. Baker’s inevitable criticisms.
The housekeeper nodded and left.
Detective Baker entered the parlor, nodded to the three women, and prepared to sit in the medallion-backed chair Mr. Radcliffe had occupied. At the last moment, he moved instead to a settee, and Amelie decided it was a good choice. Mr. Baker was taller than Mr. Radcliffe, and broader. The slim chair did not appear equal to the task of holding the detective for an extended length of time.
“Detective,” Amelie said, determined to be professional, “what brings you by this evening?”
Charlotte and Eva exchanged a glance.
“Should we . . . ?” Eva gestured to the door, and they both moved to stand.
Detective Baker shook his head. “No, please stay.” He ran a hand through his hair and then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Miss Hampton, the other night, you assured me that Miss Caldwell and Miss Duvall are mature women, capable of keeping confidences.” He paused and looked at Amelie’s cousins expectantly. “Am I correct in this assumption?”
Charlotte and Eva looked at Amelie and then the detective, the silence lengthening.
“Well?” the detective asked.
Amelie frowned, her irritation and uneasiness growing. “You doubt my word? What is this about?”
Her friends looked at her again, and then Charlotte turned to Mr. Baker. “We are indeed trustworthy, Detective. Please say what you need to say.”
Detective Baker focused his attention on Amelie. “Miss Hampton, I know Mr. Radcliffe visited this evening, and I need to know exactly what he said.”
Avoid involving civilians in investigative matters. They will only impede matters and cause problems to address in the future.
—Detective Handbook for Investigative Procedure
Michael looked at the three women who eyed him with equal parts curiosity and suspicion and hoped his instincts were correct. Director Ellis had informed him that unless he found compelling evidence to continue surveilling Mr. Radcliffe, he would be wise to turn his attention to other matters. Michael still felt unsettled about the whole affair, and his suspicion had only grown after his conversation with Radcliffe the night of the play.
He looked at Miss Hampton. He was unable to read her expression, other than she seemed exceptionally perturbed. Knowing that she had just spent what was likely a delightful time with the man of her dreams, her irritation was to be expected. With some effort, he shook aside a growing sense of disappointment.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Hampton, would you please inform your friends about the true nature of our association?”
The ladies looked at Miss Hampton, gazes still curious but now suspicious, and Miss Hampton rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Detective, you needn’t imply anything untoward. Charlotte, Eva, I met Detective Baker for the first time last week after I”—she straightened in her seat—“supervised from a distance the meeting between Miss Franklin and Mr. Radcliffe. Unbeknownst to me, the detective”—she indicated Michael—“was following Mr. Radcliffe, and when I left the restaurant, he ran me to ground in the park, demanding to know whether I was in some sort of criminal liaison with Mr. Radcliffe.”
Michael closed his eyes. “I did not ‘run you to ground,’ Miss Hampton, I—” He shook his head. “Never mind.”
Miss Duvall took in the scene for a moment and then rose. Michael wondered if she might call for the housekeeper, but instead she closed the parlor doors with a quiet click. She returned to her seat and said, “Detective, why on earth would you have assumed Amelie might be criminally involved with Mr. Radcliffe?”
Miss Hampton spoke up. “And why on earth did you commit me to such subterfuge and secrecy if you had planned all along to include everybody in the investigation?” She seemed offended.
Michael realized how completely at sea he was with a room of young women. He’d spent every hour of his adult life working or caring for his family, which had left little time for socializing with the fairer gender.
He took a breath. “Miss Hampton, I never intended to divulge our subterfuge to anyone, but I have come to realize that opportunities to speak with you alone will be difficult to find. As you assured me your family are trustworthy, I saw few other options. As it stands, this may be irrelevant before long.”
She frowned. “Irrelevant, why?”
He held up a hand. “Allow me to explain—”
A knock at the door interrupted him, and he looked at it in exasperation.
“That would be tea,” Miss Caldwell stated and answered the door. She took a tray from a young maid and then nudged the door closed with her toe. He waited as she poured tea as efficiently as one might for the Queen. She was lovely, with dark hair and eyes, and was the sort of girl that would have had Michael tongue-tied in his youth.
Miss Duvall accepted the tea from her cousin with a murmur of thanks and watched Michael over the rim of her cup. Her dark-red hair seemed a match for her personality. She was self-assured and assertive; he didn’t imagine one would have an easy time trying to deceive her.
Which led him to Miss Hampton. The one who had borne the task of trying to deceive Miss Duvall. Her cheeks were lightly flushed. Her hazel eyes locked on his, and he felt an odd sense of camaraderie with her. As long as she was the only person outside the CID who knew of his suspicions, the situation felt manageable. He felt he could trust her. After all, he knew she’d kept details from her cousins with whom she probably typically shared every confidence. He also knew how enamored of Radcliffe she was, and the man had just spent a good thirty minutes in her company.
“Det
ective,” Miss Hampton said as Miss Caldwell finished serving the tea, “if you are here to ask if I am willing to continue gathering intelligence for you, then you should know that I have conditions.”
He eyed her warily. “What are your conditions?”
“I insist you communicate with me regarding any information you gather that would prove Mr. Radcliffe to be the criminal you believe him to be.”
He sighed. “I cannot offer you a blanket commitment. I am limited with what I’m able to share.”
She straightened in her seat and took a sip of her tea. “Well, then, I suppose I shall be limited with what I am able to share.”
He was aware in the periphery that the other two women were looking back and forth between them as though observing a match of lawn tennis. “Miss Hampton, please be reasonable.”
“I am being perfectly reasonable. If I am to assist you in this investigation, I think it more than fair that I be kept abreast of any developments.”
He searched for his patience. Trustworthy or no, he had been on shaky ground with her from the first moment. She took the things he said and twisted them, and then she restated everything in a way that made sense but was entirely opposite of his own ends.
Miss Caldwell delicately cleared her throat. “If we are to be included in this matter, might we be advised as to Mr. Radcliffe’s alleged indiscretions?”
Miss Hampton turned expectantly to Michael. “Yes, please. We would all like to be advised of your suspicions.” A hint of a smile played at the corner of her mouth. The liveliness behind her eyes reminded him of their time together at the book group gathering. She was quick, and he suddenly felt he ought to be on his guard.
He folded his arms across his chest. “I am not asking Miss Hampton to play a part or engage in any way with Mr. Radcliffe.”
Miss Duvall arched a brow. “Yet you arranged for her to introduce you to him under false pretenses at the book group, and you encouraged her to continue her association with him by attending the play afterwards. Do you still refuse to divulge your suspicions to her? That seems unfair, not to mention potentially dangerous.” Her green eyes bored holes into his head.
He put a finger beneath his collar and loosened it. The air in the parlor had suddenly grown warmer. The problem was, Miss Duvall was correct. Miss Hampton was now in Radcliffe’s line of fire, in part because Michael had put her there. From the man’s demeanor, his cavalier attitude about women and requirements for a potential wife, Michael didn’t imagine Radcliffe’s intentions were admirable.
He knew when he had lost his advantage. “Very well. I regrettably must inform you that I suspect Mr. Radcliffe had a hand in his late wife’s death.”
The three regarded him with identically blank expressions.
Amelie slowly lowered her teacup to the saucer. “You . . . you cannot possibly—” She paused and cleared her throat. “Detective, you met Mr. Radcliffe under pleasant social circumstances. Surely that must have made some positive impression upon you. I am quite certain you’re mistaken.”
Miss Duvall lifted her chin. “What are the reasons for your suspicions?”
“Charlotte,” Miss Hampton said. “You mustn’t allow your own recent impressions to color your judgment.”
“Amelie,” Miss Duvall said patiently, “what better way to color my judgment than with my own impressions? Detective?”
Michael’s ears perked up. “What ‘recent impressions,’ Miss Duvall?”
Miss Duvall glanced at Miss Hampton as if in apology. “Amelie, as I told you, there was an edge of insincerity to Mr. Radcliffe’s conversation.”
“In what sense, Miss Duvall?” Michael leaned forward.
“It seemed to me that he spoke as one who was acting. Putting on a show of excessive sorrow but without the emotion behind it.”
“His wife died!” Amelie lifted her hands. “Of course he feels sorrow when discussing her.” She turned to Michael and sighed. “Very well, since I insisted on being informed, it seems I must hear you out. What leads you to believe he may have been involved in her death?”
Michael hesitated, knowing she would be dissatisfied with his answer. “Instinct,” he finally admitted. “I have no proof, no leads. The matter will not let me rest, however. When we took him to confirm her identity, I felt something that did not resonate with me. And he behaved in what I considered a suspicious manner immediately following.”
The frown in Miss Hampton’s brow deepened. “What did he do?”
Michael knew he wasn’t sharing secrets that compromised the investigation, but even so, he was not accustomed to conversing with civilians about his cases. He made himself speak. “He refused an autopsy and then took her body immediately to France for burial in her family plot.”
Miss Hampton tapped her fingertip against her lip, clearly she had more questions but was willing to wait.
But Miss Duvall nodded decisively. “I am not surprised.”
Miss Caldwell shook her head. “Why would he not bury his wife here, close to him? Did he not have a plot for the two of them?”
“A question I also asked myself, Miss Caldwell,” Michael said. “Radcliffe talked of her family’s strong religious beliefs and the bond she shared with her mother and brother. He said she would want to be in Marseilles.”
“Had Mr. Radcliffe purchased a life insurance policy for his wife?” Miss Hampton asked suddenly.
He tipped his head, impressed with the insight. “That very thing is on my list of items to continue investigating. I’ve been unable to uncover information about a policy to this point.”
She nodded. “I believe I mentioned to you that I read detective novels extensively. I have noticed that the motive for the crime almost always leads back to a money source.”
Her cousins glanced at her, nodding their agreement of her assessment.
“It is a sound theory,” he said, wondering if Miss Hampton truly believed her detective novels were a match for actual professional experience. On the other hand, her affinity for the subject matter seemed to be distracting her from her defense of Radcliffe, so he wasn’t about to discourage it.
Miss Caldwell gathered the empty teacups and placed them on the tray. “It is horrifically indelicate to ask,” she said to Michael, “but how did Mrs. Radcliffe perish?”
The other two women waited for his answer, leaning forward slightly as if the question were the farthest thing from indelicate.
“I am afraid she was found in the Thames. A constable dragged her ashore.”
“She drowned, then?” Miss Hampton asked.
“That was the coroner’s official cause of death.”
Miss Hampton frowned, and her lips pursed. “I simply cannot believe Mr. Radcliffe would harm anyone.”
“Amelie,” Miss Caldwell said, her tone gentle, “could it be possible that your judgment is perhaps the slightest bit tinged by affection? I agree with you that he seems unlikely to hurt anyone, especially a loved one, but people are sometimes deceptive.” She placed her hand over Miss Hampton’s.
“You know of my feelings on the matter,” Miss Duvall said firmly. “Any man who brings to mind my cad of a brother is not one to trust.”
Miss Hampton smiled. “I know you both have my best interests at heart.” She sighed and looked at Michael. “I shall continue to encourage Mr. Radcliffe’s attentions, if for no other reason than to prove to you his innocence. Should I discover anything untoward or the least bit suspicious, I will relay it straight to you. If you wish, we shall continue the ruse of former friendship with the book society and you may observe Mr. Radcliffe to your heart’s content. Perhaps you’ll develop a friendship with him! You might have common interests.”
“I doubt that very much,” he said. “I accept the details of your proposal. I would add that you should take care to avoid situations where you might find yourself alone with R
adcliffe.”
Miss Duvall nodded. “One of us will always be with her, or the housekeeper or maid if they are here and we are not.”
“And you will send word of any new developments?” Miss Hampton said.
He inclined his head. “I will send word if it does not harm the investigation.”
She huffed a sigh. “I suppose that will suffice, as I am unlikely to receive any further concessions.”
“Very good,” he said. “I give you my word I shall endeavor to be as forthcoming as possible.”
“Oh!” Miss Caldwell said. “I nearly forgot to mention it, but the Misses Van Horne have planned a rather last-minute Evening of Entertainment at their home this Friday evening, and they are sending invitations to all members of the Cheery Society Book Group.”
Miss Duvall laughed. “That is an evening I would not miss for the world. Those women are more diverting than the funniest play. I hear their home is a tribute to all things Egyptian.”
Miss Hampton turned to Michael. “There is another reason for you to spend time with Mr. Radcliffe, assuming he will attend. You’ll see, in no time at all, you will learn there is nothing nefarious about the gentleman.”
She smiled, but it wasn’t the full, engaging kind he’d come to expect from her. The woman was trying to convince herself as much as him, he would wager on it. Perhaps some part of her had noted Radcliffe’s insincerity, or perhaps she trusted Charlotte’s judgment. Either way, he did not wish to see her come to harm.
“I will be glad if you are correct,” he told her. It was the best he could offer.
Michael spent a sleepless night, tossing and turning and doubting he would find anything of significance to tie Radcliffe to his wife’s death before Director Ellis put a halt to his investigation. When he reached the Yard early the next morning, he was surprised to find a young man in fine clothing seated outside the door to his office.
The Matchmaker's Lonely Heart Page 9
