by Cindy Anstey
Jefferies had been one of Jeremy’s harshest critics ever since he had stepped across the Bow Street office threshold in London. There had been no doubting Jefferies’ feelings toward the new recruit. The man’s sudden appearance was not a kindness, not help. This was a takeover. Uncalled for but, clearly, Sir Elderberry had despaired that Jeremy would ever solve the case.
Jeremy’s stomach dropped with humiliation.
“Oh no, thought you might need an investigator who knows what he’s about,” Jefferies continued. “Mr. Fraser will be heading back to London by the end of the week.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Wild Goose Chase
Sophia was quite determined that Jeremy Fraser was not about to go back to London with his tail tucked between his legs. She would not allow it! Besides, it was much too soon; the lack of progress on Andrew’s case was not Jeremy’s fault and … and …
Well, she was not ready to say goodbye to Jeremy. His company was exhilarating—her heart pounded in a most thrilling manner when he leaned closer, met her gaze with a penetrating stare of his own, or touched her arm. Her steps were lighter, laughing was easier, and all felt right with the world when Jeremy was near.
She had never felt such a strong affinity to anyone before. It was a wonderful and most energizing novelty.
But that had nothing to do with her resolve to keep him in West Ravenwood. Gracious, no. Although aware that she was allowing her emotions to rule over all else, Sophia thought her faith in Jeremy’s abilities well founded. She had seen him at work. She would not agree to him being sent back in disgrace. Never.
As a consequence, she spent a restless night devising all kinds of strategies to distract Botterill, Collingwood, and Jefferies. She made a few inquiries of the staff the next morning and sent a note to Jeremy about her findings. Then after concocting many convoluted, illogical stratagems to distract the superfluous detectives, Sophia waited for the Bow Street Runners to arrive en masse to speak with her uncle.
Jeremy was the first to arrive. He entered the manor by himself; no other Runners dogged his heels. But after speaking with Jeremy, it became apparent that they would not be receiving a visit from the other investigators at any point that day. Jeremy had devised his own plan, he explained; it was a far simpler plan than any she had concocted.
“I sent Jefferies and his companions to Thersby.” He smiled with the recollection. “It only required a feigned interest in the whereabouts of the Tuffs.
“I hurried through my breakfast, making a great show of urgency. ‘I’m off to Thersby,’ I said as I passed their table. ‘Want to speak to the Tuffs.’ Then I threw on my coat, pulled on my gloves, and looked prepared to rush out. They jumped up and ran for the door just as I expected.” He chuckled and then continued. “‘No need for you to go,’ Botterill shouted over his shoulder; then Jefferies called for their horses as they ran into the yard.” Jeremy pursed his lips, fighting his amusement. “They will soon learn that the Tuffs no longer live in Thersby, but not before wasting the day to travel there and back. It gives us the freedom to investigate unencumbered.” Jeremy gestured toward the front door.
“Well done, Mr. Fraser,” Papa said, coming up behind Jeremy and Sophia in the entrance hall.
Whirling around at the sound of his voice, Sophia saw that her father’s eyes were alive with mischief. He nodded with approval. “A journey to Thersby should keep them away most of the day. The good people there are likely as uncomfortable with Bow Street Investigators as they are here.” He laughed. “Oh dear, it will not go well.”
Sophia glanced at Jeremy with a grin. When they locked eyes, Sophia found it suddenly difficult to look away. She quite liked staring at him and the feeling of her heart beating to quick time.
“I’m almost certain it won’t,” she said. She swallowed and watched Jeremy do the same. Giving her head a shake, Sophia turned back to her father.
“Going for a drive?” Papa asked, looking out the wide window beside the front door. Little Marty, visible to everyone, waited patiently outside with the reins of Jeremy’s hired horses in his hand. “Perhaps you should take Mr. Bradley and our family carriage, Sophia,” Papa said. “You would not be crowded in a larger carriage. That one is rather … cramped.”
And then he frowned, another thought only just occurring to him. “Without Betty, though? Is that seemly?”
Sophia flushed. She had been anticipating Jeremy’s company with great enthusiasm; surely Papa wouldn’t deny her the pleasure.
“Thank you, Papa, but all is arranged. We’ll stay to the country lanes.” She hated the pleading note that had crept into her voice. “Few will see us. We won’t be gone long … And if we stay in the carriage, no one—”
“Sophia, not to worry, my dear. I was just asking, not forbidding. I trust Mr. Fraser here. I know of his family and they have an exemplary reputation. I’m certain he will take good care of you.” Papa shifted his gaze. “You will take good care of my daughter, won’t you, Mr. Fraser?”
“That I will, sir,” Jeremy said, straightening his shoulders. “However, I should warn you that we will be getting out of the carriage.”
Papa looked nonplussed. “Oh?”
“Yes,” Sophia interjected. “You see, I have discovered where Harvey Tumbler is hiding. Or at least, where I believe him to be hiding.” Sophia nodded enthusiastically. “It wasn’t that hard. I asked the stable boy if he knew the dead herbalist’s family.” She grinned. “He did … but not Bertha or Harvey. He knows the Tumbler cousins—everyone is related in these little places. We’re going up to see Mr. and Mrs. Hummel on Savor Road, first cousins of the Tumblers on their mother’s side. There’s a good chance that they’ll know where he is.”
“You’re in your glory, Sophia,” Papa said with no small hint of pride.
“I do like puzzling things out, Papa. And if doing so should help solve Andrew’s murder and bring peace to our family, how could I not continue to investigate?”
Papa glanced at Jeremy, but his expression did not change; Sophia was certain that her father, while not overly pleased, understood. He turned as if to leave them and then pivoted back. “Could Daphne not go with you?” he asked.
Sophia snorted a laugh. “No,” she said. “There’s not enough room in the carriage; we would be squeezed together in a very inappropriate way.”
Sophia felt the rush of blood to her cheeks and she was very aware of Jeremy at her side. “Besides, she is at the fair today, helping Aunt Hazel and Charlotte at the church booth. It’s the last day of fun and frivolity. Collections for the education of the poor are going well.”
“Excellent, good to hear.” Papa nodded. He lifted the book in his hand, staring at it as if unsure where it had come from. “Yes, well … I’ll be in the library. If you should have need of me. And Sophia?”
“Yes, Papa?”
“We need to discuss our journey home soon.”
Sophia gulped, giving Jeremy a furtive glance. “The journey home will be soon, or the discussion?”
“Both. Your mother—”
“Yes, I … I understand.”
Sophia followed Jeremy out the door. She glanced sorrowfully over her shoulder and saw that her father had not moved, watching them depart with a brooding expression.
* * *
Sophia tried to remain silent—a poised, contained silence with an air of preoccupation. It was a manner she imagined a proper detective needed to cultivate.
The silence lasted three, perhaps four, minutes.
As soon as the small carriage slipped out of the Allenton gates and turned up the hill away from West Ravenwood, Sophia turned to Jeremy. “It sounds as if our time to investigate is soon to be limited,” she said and then shook her head. “Nonexistent, really. Neither you nor I can investigate if we’re not here in West Ravenwood. We’re out of time. We must solve this quickly.”
“We were not exactly dillydallying before, Miss Thompson.”
“You might call me Sophia. In f
act, I think it is a requirement.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I believe we know each other well enough to use first names. I think of you as Jeremy in my head, so … let’s make it official.” A blush rose up her cheeks, ruining her attempt at casual friendliness. “Though not when we’re among others, of course. Much more might be read into it…”
Ever the gentleman, Jeremy ignored her embarrassment. “Excellent idea, Miss Sophia. Please call me George.”
“George?”
“Teasing, just teasing.” Jeremy chuckled, a low welcome sound. “Please, call me Jeremy.”
“There, now that we are over that hurdle, we—”
“We have many more to conquer.” Jeremy’s brows puckered across his forehead, and he flicked the reins, encouraging the horses into a trot.
“Yes, indeed. I’ve been thinking about the lists.” She turned back to face the road, which narrowed as it continued up the hill and past a collection of small cottages. Escaped—or escaping—chickens scattered as the carriage rolled by.
“What lists?” Jeremy asked.
“Oh yes. I might not have mentioned them before. I was making a list of everyone at Allenton Park—family and staff—as well as all those I could think of in the town itself. I stared and stared at the names, jotted notes—I was well occupied by this worthless venture for days. But I have since come to a realization.”
“That until we know why, we will never know who.”
“Exactly. It was one of my first conclusions, but it got away from me. I really do need to get a journal and keep it with me at all times.” Sophia laid her hand on Jeremy’s arm and then quickly removed it. “Until you—and I—arrived and began to investigate, nothing unpleasant had happened since Andrew’s death.”
“That is not entirely true. Didn’t you say that Daphne was subject to poisoning by chocolate?”
“Yes, yes, I did, but I had forgotten to factor it in as part of the whole. It felt like a separate event, but you’re right; it is another piece of the mosaic. So, I’ll amend my statement: There were no more murders until we arrived.”
She squinted into the distance—not seeing the fields and rolling hills but her list sitting on her desk in her bedroom. “Since then, Hal Stacks was poisoned, shots were fired at Uncle Edward—”
“And you in the conservatory.”
“Yes, right! And then Bertha Tumbler was killed. If Andrew’s murder was the beginning, the others could have been attempts to hide incriminating evidence. Stacks was in the process of asking around town about people, gathering names for you. And Bertha wanted to speak with me about something. She sold various herbs, including poisons. I’m guessing she sold the one that killed Mr. Stacks to the killer.”
Jeremy turned the horses at the crossroad. Off in the distance, the music and laughing crowds from the fair could be heard echoing across the hills.
“So, you think that Andrew’s death was the catalyst, and everything else has been to hide the murderer’s tracks.”
“Except Daphne and Uncle Edward … that doesn’t fit.” Sophia huffed. Abandoning her perfect ladylike posture, she slumped back on the seat of the carriage. “Oh bother, this is so confusing. Are all cases like this?”
Jeremy lifted one side of his mouth in a lopsided smile. “No, indeed not. This is far more complicated than I’ve dealt with before. Though to be honest, while it is my third case, it is only my first murder.”
He directed the horse into the yard of a small cottage. “I believe we’re here. According to my directions, this should be the home of the Hummels.”
Sophia sat back up and glanced around. It was a neat, though small, white stucco cottage with a thatched roof and a large barn. Chickens wandered aimlessly around the yard, stalked by a large calico cat. A muddy pen off to the side housed several fatted pigs, and a well-tended garden grew on the other side of the barn. Open windows allowed air and sound into the cottage and would have informed the occupants of their arrival, and yet no one came out to greet them.
“We are not welcome,” Jeremy said, jumping down from the carriage. He wrapped the reins around a pole by the garden gate specifically for the purpose of tethering horses and then offered Sophia a hand down.
Once she’d joined him on the ground, he turned toward the cottage. “Hello? Hello!”
The head of a woman, gray haired and overly thin, appeared at the window next to the door. “What do you want?”
“Hello, Missus. I’m Jeremy Fraser, Investigating Officer of Bow Street. I’m looking for Harvey Tumbler. Would he happen to be here?”
“Be off with you. We know who you be and we know Harvey’s not done it.”
“Not done what?” Sophia asked, assuming a look of puzzlement.
“Whatever you come to arrest him for.”
Jeremy laughed lightly and shook his head. “No, no, Missus. Be reassured. I would have brought other officers with me, had I been meaning to arrest Mr. Tumbler. I just came to talk.”
“Harvey did not kill his sister,” the woman said. “Ask anyone. We know he’s innocent and we won’t let you take him.”
Sweeping his arm toward the small carriage, Jeremy looked incredulous. “We can’t take him anywhere, Missus.” He glanced at Sophia with this statement and now she understood why he had intentionally brought the limited two-seater carriage.
“I just came to talk,” he repeated.
“Don’t care! He’s safe where he is and there he’ll stay.”
“Please, Mrs. Hummel, let us speak with him,” Sophia said. She attempted to suffuse her voice with authority and a touch of humility—a difficult combination—but she thought she had pulled it off until the woman spoke again.
“Get off my property.”
“Mrs. Hummel, while the town might know Mr. Tumbler did not kill his sister, until the true murderer is caught, the authorities will still have their suspicions.” Sophia did not name the inept constable but Mrs. Hummel would understand of whom she spoke. “Mr. Tumbler will have to stay hidden forever!” A trifle dramatic, but in essence true. “How can a blacksmith run his business that way? If he helps us find the killer, he helps himself.”
“Off. My. Property!” the woman bellowed.
Her shout startled the horses. Sophia and Jeremy grabbed the reins, pulling their heads down. They stroked the horses’ necks and murmured calmingly until they no longer pawed the ground, nickering in distress.
“No use in staying,” Sophia said softly. “Mrs. Hummel is not going to cooperate.”
“Nay, but I might,” said a voice behind them. “I’m Harvey Tumbler.”
Sophia and Jeremy whirled around to see a large, swarthy man standing in the doorway. Shadows across his face hid his expression. “Depends on what you have to say.”
“Ask,” Jeremy corrected. “We’ve little to say, more questions to ask.”
“Better get started then. I ain’t standing here fer long,” Harvey Tumbler said. His voice was a deep bass, almost a growl.
Sophia glanced at Jeremy, and in unison they stepped a few feet closer to the cottage. They saw Harvey Tumbler straighten and lean back, and they halted. The message was clear: “That was close enough.”
Sophia opened her mouth to speak but hesitated—after all, this man had just lost his sister and was hiding out in fear that the law was going to arrest him for the crime. Harrowing times for the poor man.
“Ask yer questions.” Harvey Tumbler rocked back and forth on his feet.
“Yes, well … our deepest condolences, Mr. Tumbler,” Sophia began solemnly.
Mr. Tumbler stared at her with his mouth turned down. “An’ I accept them. Bertha were a bit odd, there was no doubt of that, and we weren’t close—no one would say so, not even her. Still, we was family an’ she didn’t deserve to die like that.” He dropped his eyes to the ground. “No, didn’t deserve it. Never hurt no one. It’s not right!”
“Absolutely, Mr. Tumbler,” Jeremy agreed. “Not right in the least!�
� He huffed a deep sigh before continuing. “There is a possibility … that she sold monkshood to ease joint pain, not knowing that it would be used as a lethal poison.”
“Did she say anything to you about it?” Sophia asked, taking up the thread of questioning. “Anything at all about selling the poison, or even to whom she sold it?” She tried to contain the desperation in her voice, but she could hear it painting her words. “Or who was the target?”
“Mentioned the poison. No names. Kept her mouth shut, that one.” The man stepped back into the shadows and started to swing the door closed.
“Can you make your letters, Mr. Tumbler?” Jeremy asked quickly.
The door slowed. “What?”
“Can you write?”
“O’ course I can. Though not as anyone can read—bit of a scrawl. What’s that got ta do with Bertha?”
“There was a letter in her larder from you,” he explained.
Mr. Tumbler snorted. “Not from me. Haven’t put pencil to paper in years.”
Jeremy exchanged a glance with Sophia.
“Did you see her on the day she died?” Jeremy asked.
“Yup. Early that morning. I dropped by with a … a bit a meat for ’er table.”
“Did you see any of her customers while you were there?” Sophia asked.
“Saw a woman leave. I didna pay attention, an’ I didna recognize the woman; she were covered in a great cloak and ’ad her hood up. Bertha called her ‘lady of death.’”
* * *
Driving back down the road, Sophia and Jeremy were silent for some minutes.
“We didn’t learn anything of value,” Sophia finally said, ending her sentence with a huff.
Jeremy frowned and flicked the reins. “Actually, I think we learned a great deal.”
“Oh?”
“Bertha’s last client was a woman. That is significant. Half the population just dropped off the suspicion list. We also know that the act of poisoning would have needed someone accommodating in the manor’s staff to help—a stranger could not have wandered the halls of Allenton, dropping poison into tea. Not without being noticed.”
