Still fuming, he reached the telegraph station and paid to send a quick message to the Yard. He knew Director Ellis and Winston were both still there, so they would see it.
Once finished, he paced the platform to try to dampen his rage. Trains would run for another hour, and although it was less crowded than during peak travel times into and out of the city, there were still a fair amount of people at the station. He watched men and women of all ages sitting down in the train cars with visible sighs of relief to be off their feet after a long workday.
He rested a hand on his hip as he massaged tight muscles in the back of his neck. He looked at the train car he and Amelie had occupied only days before, and the thought that he wouldn’t be able to keep her safe terrified him. He also wondered how long it would be before Radcliffe targeted him. He’d clearly communicated with Reverend Flannery, and although his end goal seemed to be marriage to Amelie, Michael didn’t suppose for a moment that Radcliffe would let Michael’s interference in his life simply pass.
Winston had mentioned ownership of a family cottage that was rarely used. It was an hour outside of London, and he’d offered its use to Michael before. Perhaps he would persuade Clarissa to take Alexander and the baby away for a short time. At least until Radcliffe was formally arrested and not in danger of doing anyone harm.
Calmer now, he left the station and began making his way back to Hampton House, this time at a slower pace. The streets were largely quiet, and the fog swirled in tendrils and wisps around lampposts and gardens. The night felt eerie and suddenly sinister. He was not given to flights of fancy, but something significant in his life had shifted. His love and worry for Clarissa and Alexander was ever-present in the back of his mind, but now he was consumed with images of a refreshing young woman who brought light into his day. She had somehow wrapped herself around his heart, and he refused to imagine a life without her.
Before long, Hampton House came into sight, and Michael could see one of the Yard’s carriages already making its way to the mews behind the house. Director Ellis and Winston must have dropped everything and run for a carriage upon receiving the telegram. He reached the door just as a bewildered Mrs. Burnette was preparing to close it. He slipped in and joined his colleagues, who had entered the parlor.
He hurried to make introductions, as Amelie and her cousins had not yet met Director Ellis. Winston placed a hand on Michael’s shoulder with a quick squeeze.
“Are you well?” Winston asked.
Michael nodded. “Well enough. I appreciate your help. I fear my thinking is muddled at the moment.”
“Is this the letter?” Director Ellis asked, picking up the wrinkled paper on the coffee table.
“Yes, sir.” Amelie cleared her throat. She had taken to pacing behind the sofa, and he couldn’t blame her. Everyone in the room seemed too agitated to be still.
Mrs. Burnette and two housemaids carried in trays and set them on a side table near the door. Eva took up the task of pouring the tea and arranging sandwiches. Winston approached and asked her something, and Michael noted the ease with which the Hampton cousins communicated with all of the police. Of course, their bond had been forged in the fires of Jacob Stern’s murder, and all three women had participated to a great degree in studying the aftermath. Director Ellis was probably unused to women working with police, but he hadn’t commented on it at any point to Michael. His only question had been whether or not they were proficient with their tasks.
Mrs. Burnett’s eyes were wide with worry. Until tonight, Michael had only seen her looking perturbed. She gathered coats and hats to hang in the foyer, and the maids helped Eva distribute the tea.
Director Ellis beckoned Michael closer. “I’ll have the packet for the prosecutor’s office delivered by special courier tonight. I’ve alerted him to the possibility that the alleged may take flight, so I am hopeful that we shall know within a day or two if they’ll conduct an inquest. We’ll place Mr. Radcliffe under twenty-four-hour surveillance as well as station constables here.”
“Very good, sir.” Michael nodded. “I believe he is guilty of at least three murders, but I do not know if we can find enough evidence to prove it.”
“Three? His wife, Mr. Stern, and . . . ?”
“A young woman in Wickelston. The situation there is speculation and rumor at this point, but I’d like to speak with local authorities about any investigations they conducted into her disappearance.”
“I’ll make contact tomorrow.” John Ellis accepted a cup of tea from one of the maids with a nod. “Suppose we all sit for a moment,” he said to Michael.
The director was young for his position, but he had worked tirelessly to prove he was equal to the task. His hair was the color of dark coffee, and his eyes were tawny. They resembled those of a lion in the London Zoo, and Ellis’s temperament wasn’t so different. He was calm, decisive, calculating, and when necessary, fierce. Michael did not know much of his background, other than he was the son of a powerful man and had not followed family expectations.
The others gathered, and Michael joined Amelie on the sofa. She still shivered as if cold, despite the comfortable warmth provided by the fire. Now that the situation had calmed, he knew he couldn’t justify putting his arm around her, so he settled for sitting close.
She glanced at him with a small smile. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she held her tea on her knees as he’d so often seen her do when her appetite had deserted her. “Apologies for assaulting you earlier,” she murmured.
He leaned over and whispered in her ear, “I have no objection to an assault of that kind.”
Her lips formed a more genuine smile, and he was glad. Her hair was down, and her clothing disheveled, but she was still lovely. She’d had a quick education in life’s harsher elements over a short course of time, and she carried a wiser, if more guarded, air about her than the young woman he’d first seen spying on Radcliffe and a dinner date.
Director Ellis relayed the same details he’d just told Michael. “There will be two constables stationed here at the house ’round the clock. I am hopeful this will provide some level of security, although I understand, Miss Hampton, that there was some confusion while you were hospitalized. You may trust my word that no officer will abandon his post.”
“Thank you, sir.” Amelie finally took a tiny sip of tea.
“Have any of you noticed anything out of place, something obviously different that shouldn’t be?” Ellis continued.
They all shook their heads, even the maids and housekeeper. Mrs. Burnette spoke up. “I know every inch of this house, and I would never have believed someone had been in it. Nothing has been disturbed, nothing at all.”
Ellis nodded. “Miss Hampton, I presume such is the case with your personal suite?”
“Yes. If I hadn’t seen the envelope on the pillow, I might never have realized he’d entered. In recent weeks, however, I’ve noted things out of place. I believe he must have done so deliberately; he clearly is capable of skulking about without leaving a trace.” She shivered involuntarily, and Charlotte crossed the room to retrieve a small blanket that she placed on Amelie’s shoulders.
She stood behind her, hands resting on her hips. Miss Duvall had also clearly been settling in for the night; her curly red hair hung down her back in a loose braid, and she wore a housecoat over what must have been nightclothes. Energy fairly radiated from her slight frame.
“What are we to do, then?” Charlotte asked Ellis directly. “We cannot simply wait for him to attack.”
“Book group is tomorrow evening,” Amelie interjected, sitting straighter in her seat. “He told me he ‘might’ see me there, and made some reference to the detective.” She glanced at Michael, eyes narrowing. “I do not know if you are safe from harm, Mich—Detective.” She flushed, but looked at Ellis and said, “He shall require protection also, wouldn’t you think?”
Michael
shook his head and started to respond when Amelie set her teacup down on the coffee table and turned her attention fully to Michael.
“Your family! Does he know where they live? Does he—”
Michael caught her hand. “I have already considered it, and I will make preparations for them to leave Town for a small holiday. Detective Winston has offered property in the past.”
Winston nodded. “Of course. We’ll discuss the details as soon as we are finished here.”
Ellis looked at Charlotte, who still stood sentinel behind Amelie. “Miss Duvall, I understand your frustration. I, also, do not relish inactivity in the face of danger. I must ask, however, that you do not attempt to contact Mr. Radcliffe or do anything that might be construed as taking matters into your own hands. We must proceed carefully and in the proper order so that when the time comes, he will be successfully convicted in court.”
Charlotte nodded, but her green eyes narrowed, and her expression tightened. “I appreciate your words, and I understand how the system works. I do not relish the thought of Amelie looking over her shoulder for an indeterminate amount of time.” She paused. “How would you advise your loved ones, if it were your family?”
Director Ellis met her eyes without blinking. “I would hide them away, just as Detective Baker is set to do with his. Circumstances require inconvenient measures at times. Perhaps the three of you would be better off vacationing away from Town for a while?”
Michael hid a smile. Ellis was not overtly confrontational, his tone was moderate, and the words perfectly reasonable. He must know, however, that to suggest retreat to someone of Charlotte’s personality was akin to waving a red flag before a bull.
Charlotte raised a brow, and Michael wondered if she knew she had been baited.
“I’ll not speak for Amelie, but I shall remain here. We support ourselves, thus we have actual responsibilities. We do not have the luxury of packing up on a whim with no consequences.”
The director nodded once. “Very well, then. We stay the course and remain vigilant. Incidentally, I am feeling exceptionally rude to be seated while you are standing. If you do not plan to take a seat, I hope you will absolve me of my duties as a gentleman.”
Charlotte bit the inside of her cheek and seemed poised to return fire when Amelie interrupted. “Very well, Director, Detectives. We have our marching orders. We shall go about our activities as usual, but with heightened vigilance and caution. I know we are all grateful for your swift arrival here, and unless there is anything left to still discuss, I’m certain you would like to call the day finished.”
Michael smiled. “We shall contact you tomorrow at the Gazette with any news. Ladies,” he said as he stood, nodding to the cousins and household staff collectively. “Please take care.”
He knew he would not find a moment alone with Amelie, but he caught her eye amidst the bustle and conversation. He winked, and she smiled. She looked exhausted, and he tamped down another flare of anger at Radcliffe. All plans for a romantic proposal would have to wait, and it was one more in a long list of grievances Michael laid at the man’s feet.
From the moment Marie Verite was pulled from the cold, dark river, all their lives had become inextricably linked, and Harold Smith Radcliffe left nothing but death and destruction in his wake.
INQUEST!
The first day of the inquest into the suspicious death of Marie Verite Radcliffe begins today, and although this newspaper has offered, on multiple occasions, to publish a statement from Mr. Harold Radcliffe or his attorney, they have been unavailable.
—The Daily Journal, London
For the next two days, Amelie felt as though she were waiting for an ax to fall. She, Charlotte, and Eva went about their usual routines, but they were careful to always be together.
Sally had met with Director Ellis to satisfy herself on the details of his course of action, and after a lengthy discussion, he had apparently told her that he saw the family resemblance between her and her nieces, one in particular. He had also ordered constabulary to monitor her home in Town where she currently resided and had been surprised when she’d not argued the point.
“I may relish my independence, but I’m not a fool,” she told the girls later.
Michael moved his family to Detective Winston’s cottage, and the neighbors were told Clarissa and Alexander were vacationing on the Continent for a time. Amelie worried, but she knew it was the best possible option. Michael had helped them leave quietly, and they could only hope Radcliffe was not having the home watched. Michael was certain they hadn’t been followed, but it seemed as if everyone was on edge.
While Radcliffe claimed to have influential friends or people who “owed him favors,” one thing he did not have was an endless supply of money. While the prosecutor reviewed evidence in Marie Verite Radcliffe’s case, Michael followed a trail of breadcrumbs Radcliffe had left all over London. The trail eventually crossed the channel to France, and Winston had spent the day tracking down information that, combined with Michael’s research, showed Harold Radcliffe was a gambler.
His preference was horse racing, having developed a taste for it even before he moved away from the boys’ home. He apparently had at least one open account still unpaid in Paris, and one rather large debt owing an organization in London. He represented the organization as their solicitor, but apparently his work-for-trade was not enough.
It made such perfect sense, Amelie thought, the scenario might have come straight from one of her murder mystery novels. The motive was usually money.
Radcliffe had married and then killed Marie Verite for her money. He wanted to marry Amelie for Sally’s money, claiming to have knowledge of an impressive financial portfolio. When Sally had read the letter, which was now in the evidence file, she had snorted in disbelief.
“He is correct about one thing,” she told the three girls, “I would give anything for your safety. Before he extorted money from me, however, I would introduce him to the business end of the derringer I carry in my reticule.”
Late that afternoon, Michael and Detective Winston called on them at the Gazette, and they gathered in Sally’s office to hear the news. “A formal inquest into Mrs. Radcliffe’s death begins tomorrow morning,” Michael told them. “The prosecutor feels enough evidence exists to convince a jury to send the matter to trial.”
Amelie hoped Michael was right. Just because there would be an inquest did not mean Mr. Radcliffe would stand trial. The inquest was held only to determine if a crime had been committed. Then Mr. Radcliffe would be arrested, charged with murder, and the trial would begin.
The detectives were still at the Gazette offices when a message arrived for Amelie. Her heart thumped when she saw the handwriting on the envelope, and she flipped it over to see a familiar wax seal stamped with an R.
Michael took a handkerchief from his pocket. “If there are fingermarks on the paper, we can use it as evidence. Please, allow me to open it.”
Amelie handed him the letter and he opened it carefully without touching it with his bare hands or wiping off potential evidence.
My dear Amelie,
I invite you to join me tomorrow evening for the play currently being performed at the very theatre where we first sat side-by-side. A carriage will collect you at Hampton House at 7 o’clock p.m.
Until then,
Yours ever,
Harold
Amelie swallowed hard and looked to Michael. “Tomorrow evening? But, doesn’t the inquest begin tomorrow morning?”
Michael nodded, his eyes concerned. “He must be feeling quite bold to demand to see you while he is under such scrutiny.” He folded the letter and frowned. “What is the man planning?”
Early the following morning, Amelie sat with her aunt and cousins in the gallery and watched the proceedings for the inquest into Marie’s death.
Michael was testifying,
explaining the scene wherein Mrs. Radcliffe’s body was pulled from the Thames. The jury were allowed to question the witnesses, and several asked Michael to recount Mr. Radcliffe’s reaction upon learning of his wife’s death, especially his demeanor and his immediate comments.
The jury then quizzed Detective Winston on his impressions of Mr. Radcliffe at the morgue, his behavior upon seeing his wife’s corpse, and his reasons for demanding her body be sent to France without an autopsy performed.
Dr. Neville testified that he had specifically requested to be allowed to perform an autopsy but had been denied, and that they were then forced to settle on photographing the body. He also testified about his recollections of Mr. Radcliffe’s behavior that day.
Before long, a recess was called, and Amelie exhaled as though she had held her breath through the whole of it. They exited the building for a quick lunch and were soon joined by Michael, Detective Winston, and Director Ellis.
“Perhaps you should specialize in crime scene photography, Eva,” Charlotte told her as they ate meat pies from a street vendor located next to the building. “After seeing those taken for Mrs. Radcliffe’s autopsy, I believe they do not compare to those you did for Mr. Stern.”
Eva shrugged. “He was certainly less trouble than my live subjects.” She paused then lowered her pie instead of taking a bite. “That is to say, the process was much less chaotic, and I do enjoy photographing people who are alive.”
Amelie laughed. “Nobody here will judge you for preferring dead subjects to live ones.”
“That much is true,” Detective Winston said with a nod. “Gruesome as it is, the dead are often much more cooperative.”
The Matchmaker's Lonely Heart Page 24
