by C. J. Archer
I shook my head to dismiss the thought. It was none of my business.
“The problem is,” I said, “that all of this leads me to question everything we’ve assumed so far. If Mr. Warrington told her he wanted nothing to do with the baby, and she threatened to tell the world his secret, then the next logical step is for him to stop her.”
“By killing her,” Harry said quietly. “You’re right. It throws into doubt everything we’ve assumed so far. It means he wasn’t the intended victim that night. She was.”
“And the killer was her own husband,” I finished. “Except he can’t be. He was elsewhere at the time.”
Chapter 13
Harry and I nibbled on sandwiches as we thought through the implications of our theory. It was a lot of information take in, and there was much to consider. But I kept coming back to one conclusion—that Mr. Warrington wanted to ensure his wife never told anyone his secret, and the best way to silence her forever was to murder her.
“He did it,” I said. “He must have. It feels right to me. But how? He has an alibi. He was at his club when it happened.”
“We should check,” Harry said. “So far we only have his word for it. I’ll go there after leaving here and ask the manager.” He tapped his finger on the side of the teacup, his brow furrowed. “If Warrington did it, he must have faked the stabbing in the lane.”
I nodded. “When we told him we assumed he was the intended victim, he realized our theory benefited him. To make it seem like we were on the right track, he stabbed himself in the hand then claimed it was a woman who attacked him. He knew a woman sent him the threatening letters, but he didn’t know her name. Is that right?”
“So my father said.” He removed his hat and ruffled his hair. “We helped him, Cleo. We helped him get away with it.”
“Inadvertently. We can’t blame ourselves. But we can fix it. Finish your tea and we’ll go to the club.”
“You’re not coming. It’s getting late and you need to return to the hotel. Your uncle will be cross if you get in after dark.”
I shot him a withering glare over the rim of my teacup. “I told you, don’t worry about my uncle.”
“Don’t antagonize him, Cleo. I know him better than you, and I know how he likes everyone to do as he pleases.”
I huffed a humorless laugh. “My uncle said the same thing, that he knows you better than I do. You two think alike, in some ways.”
He scowled. “Even Floyd is careful not to be caught doing something his father won’t like. If Floyd knows he can’t get away with it, you can’t expect to either.” He ate the last sandwich then drained his cup. “I’ll call you from my parents’ house if I learn anything at the club.”
I gathered my gloves and bag and stood. “I’m glad you’re dining there most nights. Only until your business gets on its feet, of course.” Which would take longer now if Mr. Warrington was guilty of murder. A guilty man is hardly going to pay us our fee.
“It turns out that my stomach is bigger than my pride. And my mother is a very determined woman.”
“So I noticed.”
We parted ways at the front of the teashop. Almost half an hour later, Frank opened the front door of the hotel for me.
“Has anyone asked after me today?” I said.
“Only Miss Bainbridge. She wanted you to join her for afternoon tea. I told her I didn’t know where you’d gone.”
I thanked him and strode through to the foyer. Peter stood alone at the front desk, his body leaning forward at an awkward angle once more. “Is Goliath asleep down there again?” I whispered.
His lips flattened and he nodded. “Hopefully this is the last time. I suggested someone to Mr. Hobart as a new porter. He’s agreed to let him have a trial this week. He’ll work with Goliath during the day and one of the daytime porters will move to night duty so Goliath won’t need to do it anymore.”
“Who did you find?”
“My brother.”
“William? He’s a little young, isn’t he?” Peter’s twelve year-old brother had helped me watch the house of a suspect once, pretending to operate his shoe-shine stand as he kept an eye on the premises. He was something of a scallywag.
“One of my other brothers, George. He’s seventeen.”
“How many brothers have you got?”
“Four, and two sisters.”
“Tell your mother I take my hat off to her.”
He grinned. “We’re a handful. Or we were. Most of us are older now. William is the youngest.”
He stiffened as someone approached behind me. I tensed as I turned to greet them, and was relieved to see it was Mr. Hobart, not my uncle. So relieved, in fact, that I gave him a wide smile and enthusiastic greeting.
Unfortunately he immediately suspected something was amiss. “Is everything all right, Miss Fox?”
“Everything is fine, Mr. Hobart. I’ve been out for a walk.” I winced. Why had I offered an explanation when he didn’t ask for one?
“How pleasant. Was Harry with you?”
My face heated.
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You don’t need to be anxious around me. It doesn’t concern me if you want to see my nephew.”
I blew out a breath, relieved that he thought my nervousness was because I was worried about being caught with Harry, not about Goliath sleeping on the floor behind the counter.
A soft snore emanated from the direction of the sleeping giant. Mr. Hobart frowned at Peter. “What was that?”
Peter made a great show of clearing his throat and snuffling. “I’m afraid I might be coming down with something, sir.”
Mr. Hobart’s frown deepened and he took a step closer to the counter. He stood on his toes and tried to peer over, but he was too short to see the floor where Goliath slept. Peter made a snorting sound again.
Mr. Hobart took a step back from the counter. “Don’t give your cold to the guests. Miss Fox, I have news which might please you. It’s about Mr. Trickelbank.”
“Oh? Has he been found?”
“It seems he arrived home just in time to collect my telegram. He sent a response back promising to organize payment first thing tomorrow morning when his bank opens.”
“That is good news. I’m sure my uncle is relieved.”
“Very.” He rocked back on his heels, a smug smile on his face. Clearly there was more to it.
“How did you manage it?” I asked.
“I told Trickelbank it would be a shame if the newspapers heard he was somehow involved in his sister’s murder.”
I gasped. “Mr. Hobart, that’s diabolical!”
“I thought it rather clever. It certainly got the intended result.” He looked around. “Keep this to yourself. I’d rather nobody knew I resorted to blackmail.”
“I will. And in my book, there’s nothing wrong with blackmailing a blackmailer.”
Goliath emitted another soft snore. Peter covered it again by clearing his throat, but sooner or later, Mr. Hobart would realize. I took him by the elbow and steered him away.
“How is my uncle’s mood today?” I asked.
“Better. I believe he plans for the family to all dine together tonight.”
“Alone?”
“As far as I am aware. You can check with Mr. Chapman if you like.”
“I’m sure I’ll find out sooner or later.”
I bade him goodnight and took the stairs to my suite. After a calming bath, I sifted through my clothes for something to wear for dinner and settled on the black dress I usually wore for such occasions. Despite receiving a comfortable allowance from my uncle I was loathe to spend it on clothes. For one thing, I hoped not to have to wear mourning again for some time, and for another, I preferred to save it for when I needed it.
Flossy stopped by my suite at six to inform me of our dinner plans. She did not immediately leave, however, and I could see she wanted to say something. I steeled myself for her questions.
“Where were you today, Cleo? A
nd don’t tell me you were at the museum or library. No one believes that anymore.”
“I don’t see why not. People go to libraries and museums all the time. But in this case, you’re right. I’ve been lying because I didn’t think you’d approve of what I am actually doing.”
She arched her brows. “Which is?”
“Investigating a murder.”
She pressed a hand to her chest and released a breath. “Is that all! I am so relieved.”
“You’re relieved I’m investigating a murder?”
“That’s more acceptable than meeting unsuitable men.”
I refrained from pointing out that murderers were highly unsuitable. And I certainly wouldn’t mention the encounter with Bob Ricketts in Harry’s office. She might faint if she learned I’d questioned a known bruiser.
“What qualities make a man unsuitable?” I asked.
She flapped her hand in the air. “Someone low.”
“You mean low born,” I said flatly.
She smoothed her hand over her dark burgundy velvet skirt and avoided my gaze. “I overheard Father telling Mother that you’d been spending time with someone unsuitable.” She blinked her lovely blue eyes at me. “Who is he?”
I almost blurted out Harry’s name. I wanted to tell her. I hated lying to her. But I didn’t want to put her in a position that if he asked who I was with today, she had to lie.
“I spoke with a number of men today, some of them were certainly unsuitable.” At her shocked gasp, I chuckled. “They were all suspects and witnesses. Rest assured, Flossy, I am not flirting with them, or any man.” At least that wasn’t a lie. “You know I have no intention to marry. I also have no intention of being romantically involved with anyone. I’ve told Uncle Ronald as much but he doesn’t seem to understand. He thinks I can’t judge when a man is trying to trap me.”
She sighed. “He has become suspicious of any man who speaks to me, too. I have to be careful not to talk to any particular boy for too long or my parents start planning my wedding.”
I reached forward and clasped her hand in my own. She had it much worse than me. At least, as a mere niece, I wasn’t in the direct firing line.
She patted my hand. “Don’t anger him, Cleo. If you must meet with an unsuitable man, please try to be discreet. Make sure Father doesn’t find out.”
I tilted my head to the side. “You have no objection to me meeting up with a man?”
“Does it matter if I do object?”
“Your opinion matters to me, but it won’t change anything. I will see whomever I wish to see.”
“I thought so. But thank you, Cleo. That’s sweet of you to say that my opinion matters.” She huffed out a breath. “It doesn’t always, in this family.”
“Don’t worry about me, Flossy. I am a good judge of character and I won’t put myself in a compromising position.”
“I know. You aren’t stupid.”
“Thank you.”
“And you are quite worldly,” she went on. “I mean, you know all sorts of things that I don’t.”
“I’m older than you.” And less cosseted, I could have said.
“Sometimes I see you coming and going from the hotel and I feel so frustrated that I can’t do that too.”
“If you could come and go as you pleased, where would you go?”
She blinked back at me as she thought about it. “The shops, I suppose.”
It was so absurd, since she went to the shops all the time anyway—chaperoned, of course—that I burst out laughing. She started laughing too, and we both collapsed into giggles until a brisk knock on the door broke us apart.
It was Harmony with the excuse of helping me get ready for dinner. I knew she wanted to know about the case, but neither of us mentioned it in company. She bobbed a curtsy to Flossy who, thankfully, wanted to have a bath before dinner.
“Come and do my hair when you’re finished with Cleo’s,” she said before leaving.
“Yes, Miss Bainbridge.”
I closed the door on my cousin. As soon as I set foot in the sitting room, Harmony threw her questions at me.
“Well? What happened at the funeral? Did you see the lover? And why is Victor whistling like he hasn’t got a care in the world? All the other cooks are tip toeing around the kitchen and he’s making a fool of himself.”
“Why is he making a fool of himself? Isn’t he a very good whistler?”
She merely shrugged.
I headed into the bedroom and sat at the dressing table. “He’s probably proud of himself for bringing Bob Ricketts to Mr. Armitage’s office, all by himself.”
Harmony stood behind me, staring wide-eyed at my reflection in the mirror.
I smiled as I withdrew the pins and combs from my hair. “I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to bring in a man twice his size, tie him up and gag him. We learned enough from Ricketts to rule him out as a suspect in the murder. Later, Mr. Armitage and I came to the conclusion that Mrs. Parker should also be ruled out. Listen to this, Harmony. You’ll never believe it, but we think we’ve been wrong all along.”
Harmony brushed out my hair and listened to my account of the day, from our conversation with Xavier, to discovering that Mrs. Warrington was with child, and our latest conclusion that she was the intended victim after all.
“The problem is, our main suspect is now her husband, but he has an alibi for the time of the murder.” I scooped up a handful of pins and held them out to her. “Harry is checking with the club’s manager to ensure that Mr. Warrington was indeed there that night. He should be on his way to his parents’ house now. He’ll call and tell me what he learned once he gets there.”
Her gaze narrowed when I used Harry’s first name. “If it’s not him, then who else is still on your suspect list? The half-brother? He seems like a no-good character to me, sneaking off in the middle of the night without paying.”
“He will pay tomorrow, according to Mr. Hobart.”
She placed a hair pin between her lips and poked a second one into my hair. “How’d he manage that?” she asked around the pin.
“I told him I wouldn’t tell anyone.” I winked at her in the mirror’s reflection. “Let me just say that Mr. Hobart shouldn’t be underestimated.”
She thrust more pins into the arrangement then stood back to admire her handiwork. “Pass me the black enamel and silver combs, the ones shaped like petals.”
I retrieved them from the box of combs and handed them to her, one at a time.
“I don’t think Trickelbank should be struck off the list entirely,” she said as she tucked the combs into my hair at the back.
“You’re probably right. Do you know he also lied to us about seeing his sister on the day she died? Apparently they met in the afternoon. It must have been soon after he arrived in London but before he checked in here.”
She clasped the sides of my face and made me look into the mirror to admire her handiwork. “That’s not why I think you shouldn’t take him off the list just yet, though it doesn’t help his case. I think we need to find out if he inherited anything from her death. If he did then he should still be a suspect, in my book.”
She was absolutely right. While we hadn’t dismissed Mr. Trickelbank, we hadn’t investigated him properly, either, because we didn’t think his sister was the intended victim. That was an oversight. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I came to the conclusion that he had a very solid motive for murdering his sister—an inheritance. By all accounts, she’d tried to connect with her brother years ago, only for her friendship to be rejected. If she’d felt guilty for inheriting everything from their father, she might have written her brother into her will to make amends. Perhaps she even told him that at their meeting on the afternoon of her death.
Or perhaps they’d argued and she’d threatened to take him out of the will. Trickelbank would be desperate to stop her before she had a chance to communicate her wishes to her lawyer.
Mr. Trickelbank also
had the means and opportunity. He’d dined with us on the evening of her murder, but he’d left by eleven. He seemed fit enough to climb up to a first floor window, kill Mrs. Warrington, then climb down again.
I needed to find out the contents of Mrs. Warrington’s will. And I knew who might know.
“You’re brilliant, Harmony,” I said, smiling at her reflection.
She lightly patted my hair. “It does look nice considering how simple it is.”
“I mean your theory about Trickelbank and an inheritance. I’m going to call Detective Inspector Hobart at his home and see if he knows.” I checked the watch I’d placed on the bedside table. “I’ll wait a little longer to give Mr. Armitage time to arrive. That way I can speak to him about the club, too.”
Harmony surprised me by smiling. “You look nice tonight, Cleo.”
“Oh. Thank you, that’s very sweet of you to say.” I checked my reflection in the mirror, but I looked the same as I always did. The dress wasn’t a special one and Harmony hadn’t gone out of her way to create an elaborate arrangement.
“If Mr. Armitage makes you happy and is willing to share cases with you, then I approve.”
I swung around to face her. “I’m not in a good mood because of him. It’s because we’re approaching a conclusion to this investigation. I can feel it. And I have no reason not to be happy, of course. That always helps one look their best.”
“If you say so. Do you want to apply some color to your cheeks and lips?”
“Not tonight. It’s just the family.”
“Make sure your uncle doesn’t dampen your good mood. I hear there’s nothing pleasing him lately.”
She left to assist Flossy to dress for dinner. I waited another thirty minutes then took the lift down to the foyer. A number of guests gathered in small groups, waiting for friends, or chatting before they went in to dinner or out to the theater. Phillip, the other night porter who now shared the role with Goliath, greeted me and asked if he could be of assistance.
“I need to use a telephone,” I said. “May I use the one on the front desk?”
“Of course, Miss Fox. Just make sure you put everything back the way it was. Peter hates for anything to be out of place when he gets in.”
