“It is certainly a special gift,” Daniel said, imbibing another sip.
“I hope you are not implying Mr. Li stole it,” I said. “He has not adopted Western dress, which might mean he has not been long on these shores. Perhaps he brought the tea with him all the way from China. Maybe Chinese men and women drink tea this fine all the time.”
“I imagine their classes of tea are divided up much like ours.” Daniel planted his elbows on the table so his steaming mug could rest close to his mouth. “Tell me more about Mr. Li. I am becoming very interested in him.”
I’d already related most of what I knew about him, but I went over the encounter again, including every word Mr. Li had said.
“His robe was blue?” Daniel asked when I’d finished. “You are certain?”
“I did not take particular notice when I knocked him down, as I was more worried about breaking his limbs, but yes, blue. And silk. Very fine and soft but sturdy.”
“And his English is excellent, you say?”
“Indeed. He must have studied very hard or worked for an Englishman for some time—”
“Or was born in England,” Daniel broke in. “Children of foreigners often learn English without an accent—that is to say, they take on the accent of the place they are raised.”
“Mr. Li wasn’t quite as comfortable with our tongue,” I answered after contemplation. “I will keep to my opinion that he studied very hard.”
“I think you are correct.” Daniel took another sip. “I believe I will scour Limehouse and other Chinese enclaves to learn what I can about Mr. Li.” He paused. “After I finish this wonderful tea.”
“What about Mr. Chancellor and Kew Gardens?” I asked. “There’s more to be learned there, surely.”
“Never worry. I have my ways to do both at once. He gave you no other name than Li? It is a common one.”
“We did not have time to exchange family histories. Our conversation was brief, and I have told you every word of it.”
Daniel smiled. “Never mind. You have a splendid eye for detail, and your description will be very helpful.”
“Do not lead the police to him, please.”
His amusement faded. “You are very convinced of his innocence, Kat. Everything this Mr. Li has done can be seen as suspicious—his being in Mayfair at all, his choice in time to visit you, his gift of extremely high-quality tea . . .”
“I know. But I liked him. I want him to be innocent. Of course, I am fond of you, and you are a thorough villain, so perhaps my judgment is not to be trusted.”
Daniel let out a heavy sigh. “Ah, Mrs. Holloway. All I’ve ever tried to do is please you.”
The twinkle in his eye made me want to laugh. “Don’t be silly,” I said.
We fell silent after that, enjoying every drop of the ambrosia in the teapot.
* * *
• • •
In the morning, after breakfast, I was startled to see Mrs. Redfern, the housekeeper next door, arrive at the back door and apologetically ask for admission.
“I’m unsettled in my mind, Mrs. Holloway,” she told me as soon as I had her seated at the kitchen table, tea at her elbow—not Mr. Li’s tea. That was back upstairs in my bureau drawer.
“What about, Mrs. Redfern?”
While Mrs. Redfern and I hadn’t become great friends over the months, I did respect her intelligence, and now she appeared to be quite troubled.
The kitchen was empty except for Tess, as the rest of the servants were upstairs, desperately trying to complete the tasks Mrs. Daley had handed out today. Elsie was in the scullery, dishes clattering. Mr. Davis had retreated, and Mrs. Daley, as was her habit after haranguing the maids like a sergeant major, had shut herself into the housekeeper’s parlor.
“Goings-on,” Mrs. Redfern said. She gave Tess, who was peeling apples in the corner, a guarded look.
“Tess has learned to never repeat any of my conversations,” I said. “Please tell me what is upsetting you.”
Mrs. Redfern did not relax, but her agitation obviously outweighed her worry about Tess. “Mrs. Finnegan said you were a reassuring person to speak to. That you seemed to fix things. I am growing worried, but I’m not certain there is anything you can do.”
“Is it to do with Sir Jacob’s death?” I asked gently.
Mrs. Redfern looked surprised. “No, no. The police have said a burglar did that. We’re not safe in our beds—quite literally. Sheppard and I have made very certain the windows have been closed and locked tight ever since, believe me. Not that Sheppard will be at the house long. He’s been given the sack, but the mistress is allowing him to stay until he finds another place.”
A valet whose master had died was a useless appendage in a widow’s household, unfortunately. “Could she not pension him off?” I asked. “He served his master a long time, I hear. He was with him in China, was he not?”
Mrs. Redfern’s mouth pinched. “Sheppard is not being pensioned off because she won’t hear of it.”
“Lady Harkness?”
“No, indeed. That is what is troubling me. Mrs. Knowles. She and the other woman, Mrs. Tatlock, hover and murmur, and her ladyship does exactly what they say. She listens to Mr. Pasfield too—he was Sir Jacob’s greatest friend. Knew him from childhood. Her ladyship is not a stupid woman, but she is uncertain.”
“The ladies give her counsel out of hope for reward?” I asked. “Or do they believe they act from kindliness?”
“That is the thing, Mrs. Holloway. I do not know.” Mrs. Redfern heaved a heartfelt sigh. “They might mean well, only trying to help a friend in her bereavement. But they whisper, they close doors in my face, they don’t trust any of the servants.” Her hesitancy fell away, and she gave me a level look. “I’m afraid they mean to rob the mistress of all she has.”
9
“What has made you think so?” I asked in concern. “Specifically, I mean. If you have evidence, you ought to go to the police.”
“I have none. Which is why I came to you. You seem to find out things.” Mrs. Redfern lifted her tea but set it down without drinking. “I can point to nothing specific. However, Lady Harkness has decided to sell some of the things in the house. Most of it is worthless—horrible stuff—but some is not. The master, according to Sheppard, accumulated whatever he liked without bothering about its worth. There is treasure among the dross, and I am certain Lady Harkness’s friends want to get their hands on it before she can sell anything. Lady Harkness allows the ladies and Mr. Pasfield to roam the house, and they are picking it over like a pack of crows on a corpse. I believe they are taking things, but I can’t be certain, and when I mention this to Lady Harkness, she does not listen.”
I recalled the fussy Mrs. Knowles, pale and hollow beside the regal Lady Harkness. She seemed a harmless and rather foolish woman, but that did not mean she was not greedy or would not take advantage.
“Who is this other lady?” I asked. “Mrs. Tatlock?” Lady Cynthia had mentioned her but had not painted a full picture.
Mrs. Redfern took on an expression of distaste. “A social climber if ever I saw one. Has no connections, is a widow of a shopkeeper or some such, and latches on to Lady Harkness to be pulled into her circle.” She let out another sigh. “If only one kept to one’s place, this would be a happier world.”
I was not certain I agreed. If I’d kept to my place, I’d be scrubbing floors and emptying slop pails for a living instead of sitting comfortably in a kitchen I ruled, sipping tea with a housekeeper. But I understood her gist. Ambition could make people do ridiculous things, and break their hearts when they did not succeed.
“How would you like me to help, Mrs. Redfern?”
She gave me a grateful look but shook her head. “I do not quite know. Find out if they are stealing from her, I suppose, and make Lady Harkness believe it.”
“You are in
the best position to do that. You know everything about the house, can go anywhere you like in it.”
“I have tried. I asked Jane to keep an eye on Mrs. Tatlock and Mrs. Knowles, but Mrs. Tatlock caught her, claimed Jane was spying on her, and Lady Harkness nearly dismissed the poor girl. I had to speak swiftly and defend Jane’s behavior before she relented. They are quite watchful, the two ladies. Pretending to be solicitous of their dear friend.”
I thought about how Mrs. Knowles had fluttered around Lady Harkness, getting in the way and nearly knocking Lady Harkness’s hat from her head. Lady Harkness had been wearily patient, Mrs. Knowles panting and apologetic. But even a helpless-seeming woman could hold others under her thrall. I’d known ladies of the house who were too weak to leave their beds but who nonetheless ruled with an iron hand.
I of course could not simply wander about next door and investigate—I could not keep pretending I needed herbs or some such. But Mrs. Redfern intrigued me.
Mrs. Knowles had been in the house the night of the murder, and I was not as convinced about the burglary story as the police seemed to be. Perhaps Mrs. Knowles had been snooping about, hoping to find a most valuable piece from Sir Jacob’s haphazard collection, and Sir Jacob had seen her. She might not have had the strength to fight him and kill him on the spot, but she might have convinced him to wait until morning to sort this out, and then crept in when he was in bed and silenced him. Then, in a weak attempt to cover up her crime, Mrs. Knowles opened the window to suggest a break-in. I wondered if the inspector had found any evidence that someone had actually gone in or out of the window.
If Sir Jacob had brought something truly valuable back with him from China or India, perhaps it had been costly enough to be worth killing for. Mr. Chancellor had been digging for plants—or he might have been looking for something buried under the plants. More could be put into a garden than trees and shrubs.
Even if I could not investigate the Harkness house myself, I could render assistance.
“Thank you for coming to me,” I said to Mrs. Redfern. “I would be happy to help. You go home, and I will see what I can do.”
* * *
• • •
Once Mrs. Redfern had gone, I rolled out sweet dough for the apple tart while the apples Tess had peeled simmered on the stove to render their juices. I sprinkled the crust with a dusting of sugar mixed with flour and set it aside while I rolled out the next crust.
“I can have a butcher’s if you like,” Tess volunteered. A butcher’s hook—Look.
I folded my dough into quarters and lifted it into a pan. I’d planned to ask others to traipse about the house next door for me, but not Tess.
“And have Lady Harkness send for a constable when she catches you nosing about?” I asked. “What excuse would you have for being in her home?”
Tess finished with the apples and began to scrub potatoes. “I don’t have to go in myself if you don’t want me to. I’m friends with a couple of the maids, and one of the footmen fancies me. I can have them tell me what’s happening above stairs.”
“Do you fancy this footman in return?” I asked with a small amount of worry.
“Naw,” Tess said breezily. “But he don’t need to know that.”
I was both relieved and disapproving. “You ought not toy with his affections so you can spy on Lady Harkness’s friends.”
“Don’t see why not. If these friends murdered old Sir Jacob, they need to be arrested. Who knows when the ladies might take it into their heads to murder Lady Harkness as well?”
Tess had a point. “Very well, but do not hurt that young man’s feelings,” I said. “It isn’t fair to him.”
“Oh, he’ll do all right. So many of the maids fancy him, I wager he’ll console himself well enough when I give him the elbow.”
I shook my head. “Whenever you do fall in love, Tess, I hope that man is kind to you.”
“I already told you. I’m never falling in love. Married life ain’t for me.”
I was pleased to hear it. While I’d never stand in the way of Tess’s happiness, marriage could be fraught with peril, and only the stoutest hearts should attempt it. I did not want to see her heart broken, or her life become one of drudgery to a brute.
“Shouldn’t keep you and Mr. McAdam from jumping the broomstick,” Tess went on. “That would be a different thing. You’d be two birds in a nest, you would, you keeping him and James in fine food while Mr. McAdam pretends to be all sorts.”
I thumped my rolling pin to the dough with unnecessary force. “Birds in a nest, indeed. Do not be impertinent, Tess.”
Tess looked in no way admonished and continued with the potatoes, humming a little tune.
* * *
• • •
“Her ladyship wants to see you, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Davis called to me an hour later as he slung his coat onto a coatrack in the servants’ hall and proceeded to spread a newspaper across the table there.
I paused between larder and kitchen. “Do you mean Lady Cynthia or our new housekeeper?” I asked him.
Tess, in the kitchen, laughed uproariously, and a passing footman snickered.
Mr. Davis did not change expression. “Lady Cynthia. She requests that you speak to her in the drawing room.”
“Upstairs?”
I knew full well where the drawing room was, but the exclamation was one of trepidation. Lady Cynthia thought nothing of coming to visit me in the kitchen, and a summons above stairs sounded ominous.
“Where is Mrs. Bywater?” I asked.
“Gone out.” Mr. Davis smoothed the newspaper and began to read, as though he had no curiosity about what Cynthia wished to say to me.
Swallowing, I set my load of tomatoes and mushrooms in the kitchen and made for the back stairs, so agitated I forgot to remove my apron.
I knew I’d need to face Lady Cynthia and her knowledge about Grace sooner or later, but I’d hoped she’d pretend the encounter had never happened. However, that was not Lady Cynthia’s way.
I reached the main floor, Emma pausing her dusting in the hall to eye me in curiosity. I made myself walk straight to the drawing room without vacillation, but my hand trembled as I clasped the door handle and let myself in.
Tall windows admitted plenty of light, bright after my dark kitchen. A wide mirror above the fireplace reflected a room with ivory-colored paneled walls and furniture from the previous century, refreshingly free of the clutter that littered the house next door.
A glittering chandelier hung from a plaster medallion in the exact center of the high ceiling. It took the labor of one footman and two maids to clean all the prisms on that chandelier, which had to be done at least once a week.
Lady Cynthia wore a gray frock and looked out of temper. She’d seated herself on a cream and gold striped sofa, directly in a beam of sunlight that touched her fair hair and gave her an ethereal appearance.
“For God’s sake, sit down,” Cynthia said as I curtsied and waited for her to speak.
I remained standing. I hardly wanted Mrs. Bywater to return home unexpectedly and find me sitting in her best chair chatting with her niece. I also knew that though I’d shut the door behind me, any of the staff might grow curious and attempt a peek inside. I thought of Tess and her keyhole yesterday.
Cynthia scowled when I did not move. “Very well, fix yourself in the middle of the carpet if you must, but I want you to tell me the whole story.”
I moved closer to her, bunching my hands in agitation. “Please, your ladyship, I beg you to keep the secret, and please, please ask Lady Roberta to do the same.”
I spoke in a whisper, fearing being overheard. Cynthia glanced at the closed door and seemed to understand, because when she replied, her voice was quiet.
“If you think I condemn you for having a child, I do not. Neither does Bobby. She likes children, soppy about th
em, as you could see. What I’m unhappy about is that you never told me. I take a leaf from Mr. Thanos’s book and like a person—or not—for herself, not her station in life. I dared hope we’d become friends.”
She spoke in the manner of one disappointed. I too had hoped we were friends, but I knew a bit more of the way of the world than she. “You have been very good to me.”
“Don’t bleat to me about goodness, like I’m a queen scattering largesse. I mean what I say. If we’d been born monkeys or some such animal, there would be no difference between us at all. We’d share space on a branch without thinking a thing about it. I’m willing to forget I’m an earl’s daughter—would love to, actually.”
“I understand. But I can’t forget I’m a domestic who needs her post, and who will be hard-pressed to retain that post if she is anything but respectable.”
“Having a daughter makes you not respectable?” Cynthia’s brows rose. “My aunt believes it’s the only thing that would make me respectable, though producing a son would be ten times better, in her opinion. Is it your husband that’s the problem? Where is he? Who is he?”
“Dead and gone, and who he was doesn’t matter,” I answered quickly. “He was not a kind man, and I was foolish. That is the end of it.”
“Not quite,” Cynthia said with perception. “A widow is not shamed—hell, in this day and age, she’s glorified. Look how Lady Harkness’s friends bow down and worship her, never mind whether the poor woman is grieving or not. Were you never married? Is that the trouble?”
“We were married. At least, I thought so.” The words nearly choked me. It had been long ago, more than ten years now, but I’d never spoken of this to anyone but Daniel and the Millburns.
“The man tricked you?” Sympathy filled Cynthia’s light blue eyes. “Blackguard. I am surprised though. You’re usually such a wise woman. I can’t imagine anyone pulling the wool over your eyes.”
Death in Kew Gardens Page 9
