“Go to your daughter,” he whispered. “Forget all of this for a day.”
Excellent advice, I decided.
“McAdam!” Cynthia strode toward us, her hand full of coins. Daniel released me, but calmly, as though we had nothing to be ashamed of. “You’ll have to procure the tickets for us. The damned man at the window wants nothing to do with me.”
* * *
• • •
Cynthia had eased down from her anger by the time we were bumping toward the heart of London, once again in a first-class compartment. Daniel had remained behind at Kew after cheerfully purchasing our tickets with the money Cynthia had shoved at him.
“It’s a devil of a thing being a woman,” Cynthia sighed as she threw her hat to the seat beside her. “You are to let the men of the family buy the train tickets, or at least have a servant to do it for you. When a woman wants to step outside and do a little sightseeing, she has to arrange it with seven other people first, especially if she has the misfortune to have an earl as a father.”
“At one time in this country, you could go to jail for dressing as a man,” I pointed out, though I couldn’t argue with much conviction. The code of behavior for unmarried ladies was severe. “Times have changed somewhat.”
“I probably still could be arrested,” Cynthia said. “Bobby gets away with more, because she cuts off her hair and has such a gruff voice, and people don’t always realize she’s female. She advises me to shave off my locks, but I can’t bring myself to do it.” Cynthia touched the coiled knot of her very fair hair. “Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
“You have lovely hair, and I can understand your reluctance to part with it. I would never cut mine either.”
“But you aren’t trying to live as a man. And I’m not—not really. I want a man’s freedom to dress comfortably and walk where I want to, to travel where I wish, without, as I say, an army to buy the tickets and carry the bags. I prefer to remain a woman, but I want to act, dress, and do as I please.”
“A difficult thing,” I said in sympathy.
“Dashed difficult.” Cynthia leaned back as the open lands gave way to clusters of houses and crowded streets.
“I have been meaning to ask you,” I said. “You never showed the tea we took from Sir Jacob’s garden to Mr. Thanos. I thought you were off to see him right after we found it.”
Cynthia flushed a deep red, still looking out the window. “No,” she muttered. “No, I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
Cynthia turned to me, shame and embarrassment in her blue eyes. “Because I’m a fool, Mrs. H. An idiot of the highest order. Maybe I do need an army to look after me, because I’m making a balls-up of my life myself.”
16
“Good heavens,” I said, as Cynthia continued to look distressed. “Whatever happened?”
The train clattered over points as we turned through Chiswick and headed straight east, and Cynthia heaved a sigh.
“I meant to speak to Mr. Thanos the afternoon we found the plants, yes. In fact, I went to Bedford Square to meet him in the upper room of the pub as I have before. But when I arrived, he was with a friend—that Cambridge man, Professor Sutherland.”
“Mr. Sutherland?” I asked in surprised. “Did he put you off? I found him polite and courteous, much like Mr. Thanos.”
Cynthia let out another breath. “I know, but I was in my trousers, ready to rush in all hearty, as I do. I suddenly felt awkward. Mr. Thanos takes me as I am, but I don’t know Mr. Sutherland. I’m afraid I lost my nerve. I bolted into the blue. I feel a fool, but there it is.”
“It’s not like you to be shy,” I said. “Though I believe I understand.”
“Do you? Well, I don’t. I flout my unconventionality and then fear what people think of me. How silly am I?” Cynthia folded her arms and slid down in her seat.
“You want Mr. Thanos’s friends to like you,” I said. “It’s natural.”
“What is natural about it? I either cleave to my convictions, or I abandon this charade.”
I decided not to answer. I knew full well why Cynthia feared censure by Mr. Thanos’s circle. I longed to tell her that she had no need to worry—Mr. Thanos was well smitten, in my opinion—but then, one never knew. Mr. Thanos admired Mr. Sutherland, and if Mr. Sutherland took against Cynthia, Mr. Thanos would be in a confusing spot.
“He has asked after you,” I said. “Mr. Thanos, that is. I’m certain he will want to speak to you about this matter.”
“Oh, I’ll look him up—when I’m certain we’ll be in a deep, dark cellar where none of his friends can see me. Or whenever I conquer my silly trepidation. In any case, that day, I fled to Bobby’s flat for a stiff whisky and told her all about the murder and Mr. Chancellor and wondering why he was digging in Sir Jacob’s garden. She suggested a journey to Kew, but it was too late that day once I finished my moaning. The next morning, we met at Victoria Station, climbed onto a train, and went there. Which is where I saw you.”
“Yes.” Now I was the one who felt awkward.
Cynthia’s expression softened. “She is a lovely girl, Mrs. H. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”
“I am not ashamed of Grace,” I said stoutly. “She is, as you say, a beautiful child. I am ashamed of myself, for my lack of judgment. For trusting without any sort of skepticism.”
Cynthia sat up. “Why shouldn’t you have? You were young and in love, swept off your feet. Is that why you are so careful with McAdam?”
Heat crept into my face. “With Daniel?”
Cynthia’s smile flashed. “Well, if you don’t know what I mean, then you have a right to think yourself innocent and gullible. The man is damned fond of you. And you of him.”
“And I know little about him,” I said. “So yes, I am being careful.”
The train swayed. Cynthia braced herself on the wall while I pressed my feet into the floor. “If you’d like, I can investigate him,” she said. “Find out whether he has several wives tucked away and a few illicit lovers. We know he has a son.”
“Whose mother has passed on, I believe.”
Cynthia shrugged. “Worth looking into. I believe him, but I could set your mind at rest.”
“Daniel would not be happy to think we were snooping into his private life.”
“Don’t agree. He’d understand, possibly approve. Not that I planned to tell him about it.” Cynthia crossed one slim leg over the other, her spirits restored. “I have my resources. Speaking of that, Auntie will be out tonight. Some dour party where they discuss improving books. Uncle is at his club again, so the house will be empty. I’ve invited Lady Harkness and her companions over to take coffee. If you serve that coffee, you can listen in to our conversation.”
I wanted very much to hear what Lady Harkness’s friends had to say, not forgetting Mrs. Redfern’s worries about them, but I was naturally cautious.
“Is it fair to Lady Harkness to corner her? She might truly be grieving.”
“An invitation to call is just the thing to take her out of that awful house and rest her mind. I’m surprised she’s not yet bolted back to Liverpool.”
“Still putting things in order, I imagine. But Sara serves coffee upstairs, not me. They will wonder why a cook is puttering about the drawing room.”
“They’ll wonder nothing of the sort. Lady Harkness is not quite certain which servants do what, and she won’t know the difference. I’ll wager the other two ladies will not either. I want you there because I don’t want to get it wrong when I repeat the conversation to you, and you have a wiser head on your shoulders than I do.”
I wasn’t certain about that, but I followed her reasoning. “I will have to make certain Sara understands why I’ve taken over her job. She is keenly aware of her status as upstairs maid.”
“I’ll give her a coin or two and the evening to herself. She won’t mind.�
�
“And we must ensure that Mrs. Daley does not interfere.”
“Oh Lord, that’s true.” Cynthia frowned. “I’ll tell her some tale, don’t worry. She doesn’t much like you or Mr. Davis, I’m sorry to say—she complains something horrible about you, so much so that even Auntie grows weary of it. I do hope the woman finds you so intolerable she beetles off. She claims she’s running the house more efficiently, but she gives the maids so much work they’re wearing themselves out and running into one another trying to get it all done. It’s becoming unnerving.”
“Meanwhile, she sits in her parlor with her feet up, sipping cordial.” I held my tongue about the altercation in the kitchen and her taking the brandy—Mrs. Daley might have done so for the exact reason she told us, and accusing her of stealing could land her in jail. While I did not like the woman, I could not bring myself to have anyone arrested without proof. I knew firsthand the terror of that.
“I told Auntie it was a mistake bringing her on,” Cynthia said, idly swinging a booted foot. I recalled Mr. Thanos’s besotted face when he’d told me she had the well-fitting boots made for her in Bond Street.
“Where did Mrs. Daley come from?” I asked. “Am I correct that she was already an acquaintance of the mistress?”
Cynthia let out a laugh. “Acquaintance of a sort. Mrs. Daley was cook to one of Auntie’s friends in Somerset. When Auntie was asking about for a housekeeper on the cheap, the friend sent Mrs. Daley, likely to be rid of her.”
“I see,” I said in annoyance.
“I will continue to suggest to Auntie that we dismiss her. Auntie will see reason, especially if the woman costs Auntie any money. You’d never know that Uncle does quite well in the City, the way Auntie wails about expenses.”
“It is wise to be frugal,” I said, trying to find some virtue in the situation.
Cynthia’s next laugh held true mirth. “There is a difference between frugal and cheeseparing, Mrs. H. I have nothing but my small allowance—which, happily, is managed by Papa and not Aunt Isobel—but I refuse to sit in a darkened chamber, counting my coins with trembling fingers, like some character out of Dickens.”
I had to smile at this.
Cheered, Cynthia gazed over the rainy city, talking to me about happy times she’d had as a child, before tragedy had struck her family.
We left the train at Victoria Station and went our separate ways, Cynthia to find a hansom to take her home, me to change to the underground to travel on to see Grace as swiftly as I could.
I emerged at the Mansion House station, which was close to St. Paul’s, and walked up to Cheapside as the bells from St. Mary-le-Bow began to chime.
Grace was waiting, impatient and a bit worried. I told her why I was late—I always told my daughter the truth—and then she wanted to know every detail. I took her to tea in a shop near St Paul’s and told her most of the story, leaving out the gruesome particulars.
I took Daniel’s advice and let my cares drop away, absorbing myself in Grace until my heart healed once more. Daniel was a very wise man.
* * *
• • •
At eight that evening, I finished boiling the coffee and poured it into a tall silver pot. I arranged a tray with cups and saucers, and placed among them plates of sponge cake and apple tartlets. Tess assisted me readily, as I’d told her exactly what the coffee was for. She demanded, of course, for me to relate to her later all the ladies from next door had to say.
Mrs. Daley did not interfere. I did not know what Cynthia had said to the woman, but she’d stalked into the kitchen upon my return, announced she’d take her supper in her parlor, and stalked out again. Emma, the downstairs maid, served her, and once Emma was out of the parlor again, scurrying as though a dangerous animal was after her, we heard the key turn in the lock.
Mr. Davis entered the kitchen as I lifted the heavy coffee tray.
“Sara should take that up,” he said with a frown. “Or one of the footmen.”
“I can manage, Mr. Davis,” I said without rancor. “Lady Cynthia asked me expressly.”
I headed straight for him, and Mr. Davis had to jump aside to let me out without getting smacked with the edge of the tray. A footman ran ahead of me to open the door at the top of the stairs, and I trudged up, carefully balancing my load.
I entered the drawing room to find the ladies from next door already seated. Cynthia wore a dove gray frock trimmed with black piping, a narrow band of lace at her collar and cuffs. The gown was well tailored and subdued, showing Cynthia’s modest taste.
Lady Harkness, in contrast, was in heavy mourning, every inch of her covered in black bombazine, her hands in black lace gloves. She’d removed her hat and veils, and one dull jet comb reposed on her graying hair, which again was dressed in a fussy style. Her companions’ gowns, also black, were weighted down with yards of braid, grosgrain ribbon, and glittering black buttons.
I surmised that the two companions wore mourning for the show of it, but Lady Harkness’s eyes held an emptiness, a bewilderment. I realized with a jolt that in spite of Cynthia claiming the woman hadn’t shed many tears, she’d deeply loved her husband. I’ve seen that look in the truly bereaved before.
Mrs. Knowles hovered around Lady Harkness like a flitting sparrow. The second woman, whom I gathered was Mrs. Tatlock, was middle aged, thin, and quietly dour, where Mrs. Knowles tittered and spoke in breathless bursts. Dear Julia, Mrs. Knowles called Mrs. Tatlock. Dear Millie was Lady Harkness.
Once they were settled, I presented the coffee, which Cynthia poured out while I passed around the cakes. Lady Harkness ignored the sweets, but she imbibed the beverage as though grateful for it.
“I haven’t tasted coffee in an age,” Lady Harkness said with a satisfied sigh as she set down her cup. “It is kind of you, Lady Cynthia.”
“Because coffee is bad for you, dear Millie,” Mrs. Knowles said. “It excites you, and you don’t need excitement at the moment.” She spied me in the corner and snapped her fingers. “You. Girl. Bring tea as well.”
“No,” Lady Harkness said sharply. “I don’t want any tea. Don’t be foolish. It’s rude to Lady Cynthia.”
I remained rooted by the sideboard and the plates of cake, and Cynthia shrugged. “You can have whatever you like. I ordered coffee because I imagined you’d had your fill of tea, what with living in China.”
“Too right,” Lady Harkness said, the tones of Liverpool seeping through. “I’d like to never see another cup of tea. Or a Ming bowl, or anything made of lacquer.”
I could see Cynthia had been correct when she’d speculated that Lady Harkness would jump at the chance to leave the warehouse next door, if only for a few hours.
“Why don’t you sell up?” Cynthia asked her. “Get rid of the lot and go home?”
“I would love to,” Lady Harkness said with fervor. “But there are so many matters to settle first, and the police have asked me to remain in London for now.”
“Ah yes, the police.” Cynthia sent Lady Harkness a sympathetic grimace. “I’d hoped they’d leave you alone, the brutes.”
Lady Harkness shook her head. “I don’t blame them—they are only doing their job. I do hope Inspector McGregor catches the fiend that did for my Jacob.” She bowed her head, tears in her voice.
Mrs. Knowles stroked her shoulder. “Now, don’t take on so, Millie. You know we can’t rush off right away, no matter what. So much to sort through. You wouldn’t want to lose something valuable.”
Lady Harkness raised her head and threw off Mrs. Knowles’s hand. “I wish the pile of it to the devil,” she said savagely. “Jacob bought everything in sight when we were in the Orient, saying he’d turn it into a pound here, a pound there. Everyone did. But I’d trade all of it to have him back with me.” Her voice broke.
“I’m so sorry,” Cynthia said in genuine compassion. “It’s horrible. I wi
sh I could help.”
“Leave her alone, Amelia,” Mrs. Tatlock said abruptly. “Millie doesn’t like to think of such things.”
Lady Harkness pulled away from both her friends and took a gulp of coffee. “I will not be able to leave soon even if I wish it. The police are adamant I stay, and now Sheppard, who was helping me look through my husband’s things, has gone missing. Well, perhaps missing is going a bit far. He left without giving notice, I should say.”
Cynthia’s brows went up. “Did he? What did the police say to that?”
“They are most annoyed. As am I.”
“What I mean is—do they suspect Sheppard?” Cynthia asked. “Since he’s scarpered?”
Lady Harkness blinked in surprise. “Good heavens, Sheppard couldn’t have killed my husband. I can’t imagine it. Sheppard is fearful of everything. He didn’t even like going out of the house, but Jacob was prone to roam the city—any city he was in—and insisted Sheppard accompany him everywhere he went.”
Worms could turn, I mused. Perhaps Sheppard decided he’d had enough of following Sir Jacob about.
“Valets have murdered their masters before,” Cynthia said, echoing my thoughts. “So I’ve been told. Do the police have a culprit in mind, if not Sheppard? I know they arrested a Chinese man, but then let him go.”
“Oh, I don’t believe that Chinaman had anything to do with it,” Lady Harkness said. “Li Bai Chang was very polite when he came around, well spoken and learned. I talked with him a few minutes, when he was distressed my husband was not at home. Men like Li don’t wield knives—they wield pens, writing calligraphy all day long about who knows what. The idea that Chinese men skulk about waiting to murder people at the behest of their warlords is absolute nonsense. Most are ordinary folk, like you and me, going about their business, polite and personable. I never had any trouble dealing with the Chinese.”
Mrs. Tatlock rigidly lifted her cup. “What foolishness you talk, Millie. Saying heathens are just like us.”
Death in Kew Gardens Page 17
