by C. J. Archer
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll see if Mr. Warrington is receiving.”
He returned a few minutes later and escorted us up the stairs. We passed the entrance to the drawing room where a large carpet had been rolled back. The housekeeper and another woman were on hands and knees, scrubbing the floor. The bloodstain on the chair looked as though it would be harder to remove.
“Was Mrs. Warrington sitting on the chair when she was attacked?” I asked.
“This way, Miss Fox.” Mr. Henderson continued up the stairs and knocked lightly on a door off the landing. Upon Mr. Warrington’s command he let us in then closed the door behind us.
I introduced Harmony as my associate and offered my condolences to Mr. Warrington. He did not look upset, but I didn’t expect him to, considering he was attempting to divorce his wife. Still, his face was gaunt and his eyes troubled. He was not the same poised gentleman who’d engaged my services to find evidence of his wife’s adultery.
He opened the drawer and removed an envelope. “This is the remainder of what I owe you.”
I put up my hand. “You don’t owe me anything. I hadn’t finished my investigation. What you’ve already paid is enough.”
He frowned. “Then why are you here?”
“To see that the police have the investigation in hand. I’ve found that sometimes they can be a little hasty in leaping to conclusions.”
“In this instance, it’s quite clear they have the right man. He was caught with my wife’s jewels.”
“The constable at the door said he was a vagrant. Where was he found?”
“In a cul-de-sac not far from here. The police did an early morning search of the surrounding streets and stumbled across him. He’d made a camp for himself of old blankets and newspapers. Isobel’s jewels were found amongst his possessions.”
“How odd to stay near the scene of the crime.”
He shrugged. “Not odd, merely foolish.”
Precisely, I thought but did not say. “May I ask who discovered your wife’s body?”
“Her lady’s maid. Poor thing is distressed, so I hear.”
“You haven’t spoken to her?” Harmony asked.
Mr. Warrington looked at her askance. “I have nothing to do with my wife’s maid.”
“What time did she find the body?” I asked.
He rubbed his forehead with his thumb and forefinger. “It was around midnight. She was waiting up to undress Isobel, but when Isobel didn’t return to her room, she went looking for her.”
“Did anyone hear the intruder?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I was out at my club, and I suppose the rest of the servants were asleep too at that time. I don’t know.”
“Has Mr. Trickelbank been informed of his sister’s demise?”
Mr. Warrington’s lips parted. “How do you know about him?”
“He’s staying at the Mayfair Hotel. I dined with him last night in the hope he could tell me about Mrs. Warrington’s relationships.”
“And what did he say?”
“He said he doesn’t have family here.”
Mr. Warrington stared absently at a framed map of western Europe with blue pins stuck into it, hanging on the far wall. His eyes briefly fluttered closed before they reopened. He rose and headed for the door. “I’m feeling somewhat overwrought this morning. Would you mind seeing yourselves out?”
“Of course, but if you wish me to investigate for you, please let me know.”
“That won’t be necessary. The police have it in hand.”
He opened the door just as Mr. Henderson was about to knock. Beside him stood a gentleman of slim build with thinning blond hair and small lines fanning out from worried blue eyes. Mr. Warrington’s mood instantly lifted as he greeted the newcomer with a look of relief.
The visitor clasped Mr. Warrington’s shoulders. “Bertie, I came as soon as I received your message. What happened?”
Mr. Warrington stepped aside to reveal Harmony and me. “Thank you for coming, Pierce. Miss Fox, Miss Cotton, may I introduce my friend, Mr. Pierce Drummond. I asked him to stop by at his earliest convenience. I’m in need of good friends around me today.”
The two men exchanged grim smiles, and Mr. Drummond stepped forward to shake our hands. Mr. Warrington did not explain that we were private detectives or why we were there. He simply stood beside the open door, waiting for us to leave.
We bade them goodbye and headed down the stairs behind Mr. Henderson. I stopped at the entrance to the drawing room and Harmony did too. When he realized, Mr. Henderson turned back. He closed the door on the staff who’d turned their attention to the bloodstained chair.
I glanced up and was surprised to see him not scowling. He didn’t look angry. He looked sad.
I’d made a dreadful mistake. A mistake that ladies and gentlemen often made, but one I’d not expected to make. I’d treated a servant as if he were invisible, as if his reaction to the previous night’s events could tell me nothing.
But Mr. Henderson’s shoulders were a little slumped this morning, his face etched with lines of exhaustion that hadn’t been there yesterday.
He turned and continued down the stairs, his pace brisk.
I hurried to keep up. “Mr. Henderson, may I ask you some questions about last night?”
“No.”
“What about Mrs. Warrington’s maid? I believe she found the body. May I speak with—?”
He stopped at the base of the staircase and turned so suddenly to face me that I took a stumbling step back, bumping into Harmony. Mr. Henderson leaned down to my level to look me in the eye. Where before he seemed sad, now he was back to being the austere butler.
“Mrs. Warrington is deceased. Show some respect and leave.”
“But it might be important.”
“Get. Out.”
He gripped Harmony’s arm and marched her to the front door.
“Unhand me!” Harmony swatted at him, but he did not release her until the door was open. She adjusted her coat and thrust out her chin at him. “Don’t touch me again.”
“Don’t come back here again,” the butler growled.
“Something wrong?” the constable said as Harmony and I joined him on the porch.
“Don’t let them back in,” Mr. Henderson snapped at him. “Mr. Warrington no longer wishes to see them.”
I bristled. “That’s not true!”
“Miss Fox? Harmony? What the devil?”
The familiar voice took me by surprise. So much so that I couldn’t move for several seconds as I stared at Mr. Armitage, approaching from the pavement. “What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Making a nuisance of himself,” the constable said. He crossed his arms and settled his feet apart, blocking Mr. Armitage from joining us on the porch.
Mr. Armitage was still taller even though he stood on a lower step. He put up his hands in surrender. “I’m not attempting to get inside. I just want to make sure my friends are all right. Harmony, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” she said, somewhat cautiously. Her gaze slid to me, brows arched.
“Miss Fox?” he asked.
“We’re quite all right, thank you. Are you here to speak to Mr. Warrington?”
“Yes, but this fellow won’t let me in.” Mr. Armitage glared at the constable. “How did you get in?”
“Mr. Warrington is my client so naturally I was allowed.”
The constable grunted. “Don’t think he’s your client no more.” He jerked his head at the closed door. “Seems he threw you out.”
“His butler doesn’t speak for his employer.” I passed Mr. Armitage on the steps and Harmony followed behind. “Why did you want to speak to Mr. Warrington?”
“To offer my services in the investigation,” he said.
Harmony and I stopped and rounded on him. “You can’t!” I blurted out. “He’s my client.”
The journalists looked up, sensing an intrigue. Mr. Armitage indicated we should keep walki
ng.
“He was your client in the divorce matter,” he said. “This is different.”
“It is not,” Harmony said snippily.
“It’s irrelevant anyway,” I said. “Mr. Warrington is leaving it in the hands of the police. He won’t be hiring either of us.”
Mr. Armitage remained silent. Too silent. I grew suspicious.
“The police have arrested a suspect,” I went on.
He scoffed. “You believe the story about the vagrant?”
“You know about that?”
“I called my father as soon as I read the article in the newspaper this morning.” He glanced behind us to make sure no one was listening. “He doesn’t believe the vagrant did it. For one thing, why did he remain so close to the house after killing her and taking her jewels? He should have got further away. He had time.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“That’s not all. The killer appears to have accessed the drawing room via the unlocked window. Since the room was on the first floor, he would have had to climb up the plumbing pipes and crawl through, but he has a bad arm. Even with a ladder, he would struggle.”
“So they’ve released the vagrant?”
His face turned grim. “Unfortunately, the detective assigned to the case wants to wrap it up quickly. My father thinks he’s getting pressure from higher up. The vagrant may be the scapegoat unless the real killer is found.”
“So the investigation is not being conducted in a thorough manner. I imagine that must frustrate Detective Inspector Hobart.”
He gave a wry laugh. “My father does like to make sure everything is done properly. Unfortunately he hasn’t got the authority to do anything about it. When he raised concerns he was told to keep quiet.”
We walked on, heading in the general direction of Mayfair, although no one had suggested a final destination. It was yet another overcast day, but the rain held off and it would have been a pleasant walk if we’d not just come from a murder scene.
“So what do we do now?” I asked.
“Investigate,” Mr. Armitage said. “Find out who really killed her then go to Mr. Warrington with the proof before going to the police. Perhaps he’ll pay; perhaps he won’t. It’s not an ideal way to go about conducting business, but I’m prepared to do some work gratis while I establish myself.” He flashed me a lopsided grin. “Also, I have nothing better to do.”
I smiled.
Harmony cleared her throat. “That’s all well and good, but what if Mr. Warrington did do it? Maybe he wanted to be sure he kept her money. If they divorced, wouldn’t she keep it, but in the event of her death, he’d inherit? Seems like a good motive to me.”
“If they married after the law changed in 1882, she’d have kept any property and money she brought to the marriage in the event of divorce,” Mr. Armitage said.
“They did,” I said. “They married in ‘83, according to the butler. So if Mr. Warrington divorced her, he would have got nothing. She would keep her inheritance. But if he killed her, it all goes to him, as next of kin, unless her will stated otherwise.” A chill ran down my spine. Had I just been in the same room as a killer? Thank goodness I’d taken Harmony with me.
I looped my arm through hers and we exchanged worried looks. She clearly thought the same as me.
“It’s not him,” Mr. Armitage assured us. “My father told me Warrington has an alibi for the time of the murder. He was at his club.”
We turned into Kensington Gardens to take a slightly shorter route back to Piccadilly. The Albert Memorial was visible through the bare winter trees, the gold cross glinting in the sliver of weak sunshine managing to poke through the clouds. It was clear now that we were heading to the hotel.
“I think we ought to return to the house,” I said. “We need to question the servants.”
Harmony agreed. “If the police aren’t willing to look further, then it’s up to us. Mr. Warrington will pay us once we find the killer.” She said it with conviction and I tended to agree with her. He’d been willing to pay my entire fee this morning, even though my investigation was cut short.
“We won’t tell him yet, however,” I said. “Not until we have proof that someone other than the vagrant did it. What do you think, Mr. Armitage?”
“There is no ‘we’ in this investigation, Miss Fox.”
“Come now, don’t be like that. Even though Mr. Warrington is my client, I’ll let you have a piece of the pie this time since you have nothing better to do.”
“I meant, I’ll work this investigation alone.”
I gave him a sweet smile. “I know what you meant.” I turned and retraced our steps back towards the house. Harmony kept pace beside me.
Mr. Armitage muttered something then fell into step alongside us. “I’ve created a monster.”
“Merely unleashed her.”
He grunted. “I’m not sure you were ever leashed, Miss Fox. Not while I’ve known you, anyway. You strike me as someone who has always been a free spirit who does as she pleases.”
“If I could do as I pleased, I wouldn’t go to dull dinners with my family and sit through conversations with dull men who only have one thing on their mind.”
“Marriage?”
“Finance.”
He laughed. “Would you prefer it if they wanted to talk about marriage?”
“Good lord, no. I’ll take financial conversations over personal ones any day.”
Several paces later, he asked, “How many men are there, anyway?”
“Just the one, and that’s more than enough.” I shouldn’t talk about Edward Caldicott in such a way. It was hardly fair. He’d been friendly to me at dinner, and hadn’t been as dull as I’d made out. I suspected after he returned from his holiday that he would be rather more interesting. Travel tended to change a person and expand their viewpoint.
That’s if he decided to travel at all. His mother had made it sound like he was putting it off. I only hoped he wasn’t putting it off so he could court me, as she’d implied.
“I think we should avoid the butler.” Harmony’s voice cut through my thoughts and reminded me of the task at hand. “But I do think we should speak to the other servants, if possible.”
“It won’t be easy to get them alone,” Mr. Armitage said. “Not without the constable seeing us, or the butler.”
“We’ll wait for them to leave,” I said.
Mr. Armitage lengthened his strides. “I have a better idea.”
His better idea was to inform the journalists that he’d heard the constable was in possession of some scandalous information about the Warringtons. They swarmed up the front steps and surrounded the poor constable, peppering him with questions.
We took advantage of the commotion to take the stairs to the basement and slip into the house via the service door. Mr. Armitage went ahead to make sure the butler wasn’t present, then returned a few minutes later with a small woman wearing a black uniform and white cap. I recognized her as the lady’s maid caught listening at the door when I’d spoken to the butler in his office yesterday. I didn’t know what Mr. Armitage had said to her but going by the way she batted her lashes at him, I suspected he’d employed his charm.
He introduced her as Miss Jennet. She was young for a lady’s maid, only mid-twenties, with brown hair pulled back severely under her cap. She had an angular jaw and high cheekbones, and dainty hands that wrung together in front of her.
“Miss Jennet, this is Miss Fox and Miss Cotton, my associates.” To us, Mr. Armitage added, “I told Miss Jennet how we are private detectives employed by Mr. Warrington to find the killer as he doesn’t believe the police have the right man. She knows she mustn’t talk about it with the others.”
She barely even looked at Harmony or me. She blinked up at Mr. Armitage. “I think what you do is thrilling.”
Good lord, this was getting us nowhere, and the housekeeper or butler could interrupt at any moment and then we’d get no answers. “Can we go for a walk outsid
e, Miss Jennet?” I said. “It’s just that I feel somewhat claustrophobic in this narrow corridor.”
Footsteps echoed on the flagstones in the distance. “Is someone there?” It sounded like the housekeeper.
“Let’s have a nice chat in a teashop,” I said cheerfully.
The footsteps grew louder.
Harmony opened the door and Mr. Armitage ushered Miss Jennet out. I just managed to close the door before the housekeeper came into view.
We found a teashop on Kensington High Street and sat at the back. It was too early for most customers, so we were able to talk without being overheard.
“I know it’s difficult to talk about,” Mr. Armitage began, “but can you please tell us what happened last night. Begin with when you found the body.”
Miss Jennet rested her hands on the table in front of her. Her busy fingers hadn’t stopped twisting together since we’d sat down. “I went into the drawing room at midnight to ask if she was going to bed soon and if she wanted help undressing. Sometimes she does it herself if she gets in late so I can go to bed.” She drew in a shuddery breath and released it slowly. “She didn’t move so I went over to her chair, and that’s when I found her, covered in blood.” Her voice trembled and her eyes filled with tears.
Our tea arrived in a pretty blue and white teapot with matching cups. Harmony poured as Mr. Armitage continued with the gentle questioning.
“Where was she in the drawing room?”
“On the wingback chair by the fire.”
“Forgive me, I haven’t been inside the drawing room. Which way does it face in relation to the window?”
“She had it turned to the fireplace, which she likes to do in winter. The window is a little behind and to the right. That’s how the killer got in, isn’t it? The vagrant? He climbed through the window and cut her throat from behind then stole her jewelry?” Her voice became increasingly high with each question.
I placed a hand on her arm and she instantly calmed. “What happened then?”
“I called for help. Mr. Henderson arrived first, but he wasn’t any use. He broke down and wept. Then the housekeeper came. She sent the coachman off to Mr. Warrington’s club. We telephoned the police while we waited for his return.”
