by C. J. Archer
Christ Church in Kensington was full by the time I arrived. I sat near the back with the Warringtons’ servants and watched the mourners, looking for any gentlemen who matched the description of Xavier. There were a number of people crammed into the small church and being seated near the back made it difficult to see their faces until it was time to leave. Even then, I couldn’t see any gentlemen who looked distraught. Except for Mr. Henderson the butler. As her coffin was carried out, he burst into tears.
Mr. Warrington followed close behind the coffin, looking somber but not upset. Behind him came Mr. Drummond, then the other mourners followed. Mr. Trickelbank was notable by his absence.
I made sure to be one of the last to leave and checked the faces of each of the men as they passed me up the aisle. While all were grave, only one appeared to be on the verge of breaking down. He also happened to have reddish-blond hair and thick sideburns, and he wasn’t wearing gloves. The small brown birthmark on the back of his hand was the confirmation I needed.
“Xavier,” I said quietly as he passed.
He looked up and blinked watery eyes at me. Realizing he didn’t know me, and thinking he’d misheard, he continued on the slow procession behind the coffin.
I joined the line of mourners at the end. Harry stepped in beside me. I’d noticed him earlier, seated in the pew in front of me and on the other side, and wasn’t surprised to see him in the church. He seemed surprised to see me, however.
“What are you doing here?” he whispered.
“Investigating. I think I’ve found the lover.” I nodded at the man a few paces ahead, dressed in a dark gray coat and black hat.
“You shouldn’t have come. Not after your uncle’s threats. If he makes you leave the hotel because of me…”
“Don’t worry, he asked me to stay this morning. Come on, we have to speak to Xavier.”
We emerged from the church into weak sunshine and scanned the faces of the mourners for the gentleman. I couldn’t see him. “He’s gone.”
“There he is.” From his higher vantage point, Harry could see more clearly.
I followed him down the stone steps and hurried in his wake as he caught up to the man named Xavier. I suddenly wished I’d thought more about what to do next. I’d been so intent on simply finding him that I didn’t know what to say. Introduce ourselves and tell him we were investigating Mrs. Warrington’s murder? Or make something up?
Harry had no such difficulty making a decision. When Xavier stopped upon being hailed, Harry immediately slipped into a smooth, friendly tone designed to win our quarry over. He introduced us and said we were attempting to solve the murder of Mrs. Warrington.
“We don’t believe a vagrant with a bad arm could have climbed through the first floor window,” he finished.
The man named Xavier looked past Harry to me. I smiled sympathetically. I liked to think it was the icing on the cake that won him over although it was likely more to do with his desire to find the killer. Still, he was wary.
“Who is paying you?”
“No one has paid us,” Harry said. While it wasn’t a lie, it wasn’t the entire truth either. Mr. Warrington hadn’t paid us yet. Whether it was right to let Xavier think we were amateur detectives investigating in our spare time was debatable. “Let me begin by saying we’re deeply sorry for your loss. We know Mrs. Warrington was important to you.”
Xavier swallowed heavily and his gaze became unfocused. “Thank you.”
“Are you up to answering questions?” Harry asked.
“I suppose, but I don’t see how I can help you.” He was softly spoken, but that could have been his grief making it difficult for him to speak. “I didn’t know there was any doubt about the vagrant. Why haven’t the police come to ask me questions?”
“Because they’re not looking elsewhere.”
“They also don’t know of your existence,” I added.
“Then how do you?”
I wasn’t willing to admit that I’d seen the photographs of he and Mrs. Warrington so I didn’t answer at all.
“When was the last time you saw Isobel Warrington?” Harry asked.
“The day before she died. We were supposed to meet up on the night of her death, but…” He swallowed. “She never arrived.”
“What time should your meeting have taken place?” I asked.
“Ten.”
“And how far away do you live?”
“A fifteen minute walk.”
I exchanged glances with Harry. If Mrs. Warrington only lived fifteen minutes away from her lover, she should have left by nine forty-five. But she was still in the house at ten when she ordered tea. Had she changed her mind? Had the argument with her husband earlier given her reason to change it?
“How long were you two together?” Harry asked.
“Almost six years.”
“Did her husband know?”
“He knew of me, but not my name or anything to identify me. According to Isobel, he didn’t want to know. It was probably best that way, for everyone.”
“Did you know he wanted to divorce her?” I asked.
His mouth dropped open. “My god. No, I didn’t. She didn’t tell me.”
“She only found out on the morning of her death. If you didn’t see her that day, or had no communication from her—”
“I did. I received a brief message from her in the late afternoon, asking if she could see me that night.”
“What did it say?”
He shrugged. “Just that she needed to speak to me and she was worried. It must have been because she learned he wanted to divorce her. At the time, I thought it was about her half-brother. She was going to meet him that afternoon and hadn’t been looking forward to it.”
“There was nothing in the note about how the meeting went?”
He shook his head. “I can’t believe Warrington wanted to divorce her,” he said quietly. “They had an agreement.”
“What sort of agreement?” Harry asked.
Xavier glanced towards the small crowd lingering near the church door. “Their marriage has never been consummated because he…isn’t interested.”
“We know Mr. Drummond is more than just a friend,” I added. “Is that what you’re referring to?”
He inclined his head in a nod. “That’s why I never felt any guilt over being with Isobel. Why couldn’t we be together when it was all right by her husband? No one was harmed by our arrangement. Indeed, everyone was happy. Or so I thought. Now you’re telling me he wanted a divorce. I don’t understand. Why now, after all this time? Why attract attention to himself and risk exposing his proclivities?”
It was a very good question.
“You must have been jealous of Warrington,” Harry said.
“A little, in the beginning. I would have liked to marry Isobel in those days, but I came to accept the way things were. As I said, the arrangement suited everyone and that includes me. I quite like the bachelor’s life, you see.” His thumb absently stroked the birthmark on his other hand and his mouth drooped at the corners. “She was so full of life and spirit. I can’t believe she’s gone. I can’t believe someone would want to kill her.”
Neither Harry nor I informed him that we suspected Mr. Warrington was the intended target. If Xavier knew we suspected Isobel’s death had been an accident, he might be less inclined to help because it would make him the prime suspect.
I glanced towards Mr. Warrington as he climbed into the carriage to transport him to the cemetery. Mr. Drummond followed, but not before he lifted his gaze and met mine. It wasn’t clear from this distance if he knew that the man we spoke to was Mrs. Warrington’s lover. The carriage drove off with the curtains wide open, which I thought was a little dangerous considering someone wanted Mr. Warrington dead. Perhaps he assumed no one would attack in broad daylight. I hoped he was right.
“Have you considered the possibility that the killer didn’t come through the window?” Xavier suddenly asked.
“We�
�re considering all possibilities,” Harry said. “Is there something you’d like to tell us?”
“I…I don’t know if it’s relevant.”
“Tell us anyway and we’ll decide,” I said.
Xavier’s thumb continued its stroking as he took his time answering. “I went to the house once, last year. I had to give Isobel an urgent message so delivered it myself. I spoke to the butler, and he must have realized who I was. He was rude to me. Quite nasty, in fact. He warned me off, telling me he’d make my life difficult if I didn’t stop my harassment of his mistress. That was the word he used—harassment. There was no reasoning with him. It was obvious to me that he was jealous of our relationship, and that he was in love with her.”
“Are you suggesting he killed the woman he loved so no one else could have her?” Harry asked. “It seems a little extreme.”
Xavier shrugged. “One reads about these things happening in the newspapers. Or perhaps it was an accident and the butler didn’t mean to kill her.”
It was so close to the truth that I wondered if he’d reached the same conclusion as us, that Mr. Warrington was the intended target.
Harry thanked Xavier and asked for an address where we could find him if we had further questions. The smile he gave us upon departing was a sad one.
“What do you think?” I asked as we walked off in the other direction.
“I think he’s devastated over the loss of his lover,” Harry said. “But that doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her, accidentally mistaking her for Warrington.”
“True. I found it interesting that he tried to implicate Mr. Henderson.”
“Very interesting indeed. But of all our suspects, the butler knew it was Mrs. Warrington in that chair, not her husband. Our theory that he was the intended victim doesn’t hold water if Henderson is guilty.”
We walked on in silence. The late morning sunshine tried valiantly to stay out, but the clouds soon closed in and smothered it. The air chilled and a brisk wind picked up. Harry suggested we attempt to speak to the butler to get his version of the confrontation between he and Xavier a year ago. I agreed and we changed our course, heading towards the townhouse. The servants had not followed the carriages going to the cemetery but had headed off on foot in the direction of the Kensington residence.
“You have a theory?” Harry asked.
I looked up at him. “Why do you think that?”
“Your brows draw together when you’re lost in thought and a small dent appears between them.”
I pressed a finger to my forehead to iron out the dent. “Do we agree that the timing of the murder has something to do with the divorce?”
“I think so, yes. It’s too much of a coincidence for Mrs. Warrington to learn about the divorce on the day someone tries to kill her husband, only to accidentally murder her instead.”
“So the murderer is someone who believes being a widow is better for her than being a divorcee. They are trying to save her reputation, which would be ruined after a divorce.”
“There are only two people who love her enough to commit murder for her. Xavier and Henderson.”
“Xavier is pointing the finger at Henderson,” Harry said, “and Henderson knew his master was out. So it must be Xavier.”
I agreed. “We’ll see what we can learn from Mr. Henderson about that confrontation.”
Our visit to the Warrington house was a waste of time. Mr. Henderson slammed the door in our faces and refused to reopen it, despite our continued knocking. Our questions would have to wait for a time when Mr. Warrington was home and could order his butler to speak to us.
We caught an omnibus back to Harry’s office so we could discuss the investigation further without being overheard. He was quiet on the journey, but I got the distinct feeling he wanted to speak.
“Is something the matter?” I asked, as we walked from the omnibus stop to his office.
He lifted a shoulder in a shrug and shook his head.
I ought to leave it there, but my interest was piqued and I couldn’t. “Is it something to do with the case or the confrontation I had with my uncle?”
He waved to Luigi through the window of the café and removed the key to the door from his pocket. He inserted the key into the lock and frowned.
The door wasn’t locked.
He put up a hand to order me to stay back then entered. He crept up the stairs and paused on the landing. I followed, taking pains to be as quiet as possible, and withdrew the small knife I kept in my bag. Harry wasn’t armed. His gun was inside the office.
I pressed the knife into the palm of his hand and received a scowl in return. He jerked his head, ordering me back down the stairs. I complied, but only for three steps.
He gently turned the office door-handle then, drawing a deep breath, shoved it open.
He stopped in the doorway and swore loudly.
I pushed past him and stopped too. A gasp caught in my throat.
We had a visitor. An unwilling one going by the way he was tied to the chair with a cloth covering his mouth.
Chapter 12
“Sorry for bringing him here, but I didn’t know what to do with him, once I caught him.” Victor lounged in the brown leather armchair, dressed in street clothes, not his cook’s uniform.
There was no look of triumph in his eyes, no sign of satisfaction that he’d managed to tie Bob Ricketts up and bring him here for questioning, all on his own. He looked like he’d just come in from the market and dumped his purchases on the chair at the desk in the hope someone else would unpack them.
He stretched out his legs and crossed his arms over his chest. “He wouldn’t speak to me, but maybe you’ll have better luck, Armitage.”
“How did you manage to get him in here without being seen?” I asked.
“I can’t give away all my secrets. I’m already teaching you how to pick locks.”
Harry’s gaze slid from Victor to me.
I approached Ricketts and tugged the cloth covering his mouth down to his chin. He snarled and went to bite my hand, but I jerked it back just in time.
Harry stepped forward. “Try that again and you’ll leave here looking even uglier than when you came in.”
Ricketts spat on the floor near Harry’s feet.
“We just have some questions to ask you,” I said. “Answer them truthfully and we’ll let you go.”
“And if I don’t?” he snarled in a Cockney accent. “You going to keep me ‘ere forever?”
“I’ll tell the local bobbies where I found you,” Victor said from the armchair. “I reckon they’d be interested in your lair.”
Ricketts’ top lip curled in a sneer. “Dog. If I ever find you—”
“You won’t.” Victor’s cockiness remained, despite the fierce glare Ricketts fired back at him.
Ricketts might not be able to find Victor, but he could come here and find Harry. If we didn’t want him to retaliate, we had to be smarter in our strategy.
I started to untie the rope binding his hands together behind the chair but Harry stayed my arm.
“I’ll do it. Go and stand near Victor.”
I relinquished my position and Harry continued untying the rope. The moment he was free, Ricketts leapt up and swung a fist at Harry. If it had connected, Harry could have lost a tooth, but he was ready for it and darted out of the way. Ricketts might be built like a bear, but Harry was quicker and smarter. The punch had thrown Ricketts off balance, and Harry swooped in and wrapped his arm around Ricketts’ throat. Given their positions and the awkward angle of Ricketts’ bent body, his attempts to free himself were in vain.
“You don’t seem to understand,” Harry said in a calm voice. “This is a business transaction that benefits both you and us. I will pay you for answers and we will not tell the police where to find you. But you must answer honestly and you must leave peacefully. Understood?”
Veins bulged across Ricketts’ face, the shade of which ran the spectrum from pink to red to purple. Harry c
ould choke him to death if he didn’t release him soon.
Ricketts managed to whisper an agreement and Harry let him go. Ricketts doubled over, his hands on his knees, coughing and spluttering.
Beside me, Victor had got to his feet the moment Ricketts was free. He remained standing, his hand resting at his hip beneath his coat where his knife belt was strapped.
Harry moved the chair with his foot. “Take a seat.”
Ricketts sat, but no one else did.
Harry removed a gold sovereign from his pocket and placed it on the desk. “You’ll get more if I believe your answers.”
Ricketts pretended to ignore the money, but by not looking at it, it was obvious he desperately wanted it.
“Why did Mrs. Parker pay you yesterday?”
Whatever question Ricketts had expected, it wasn’t that. “What makes you think she paid me?”
“We saw you.”
The big man’s brow plunged as he tried to recall seeing us. But he was clearly as unobservant as he was subtle and couldn’t remember passing us on the street. “She asked me to do some business for her.”
“What sort of business?”
He looked pointedly at the coin.
Harry placed another on top of the first.
“Will you keep my name out of it?” Ricketts asked.
Harry nodded.
Ricketts considered this then said, “She paid me to rough up a bloke for her. I don’t know who. She didn’t give me his name, just told me where to find him.”
“Did she ask you to kill him?” Harry asked.
“No!” Ricketts rubbed his paw over the back of his neck. “She just told me to scare him into not attending parliament on the day some new law was going to be discussed. So I followed him into a lane near his Mayfair house and we had words.”
I frowned. “Mayfair?”
“That’s what I said. Mayfair, in a lane, last night.”
“Last night?”
“Are you deaf or just stupid? I did the job on that politician last night, in Mayfair, just like she wanted. Roughed him up real good, too. It even made the papers.” He grinned, revealing a mouth like a chessboard with broken or missing teeth.
