“Well, they are.” Lady Harkness’s lips pinched. “Mothers look after their children, fathers work to take care of their families. Family is a very important thing in China. I can admire that.”
“Which is why missionary work there is so crucial,” Mrs. Tatlock went on. “I was so hoping Sir Jacob would give to our cause.”
“And please cease your prattle about missionaries,” Lady Harkness said in irritation. “I can’t abide them. Most aren’t allowed in China, for good reason. Missionaries can’t leave people the devil alone.” She broke off, flushing. “I do beg your pardon, Lady Cynthia. It is an old argument.”
“Not at all,” Cynthia said. “I’m fascinated by foreign parts.”
Mrs. Tatlock turned to Cynthia, obsequious. “Perhaps you would be interested in funding missionary work, your ladyship.”
“Oh yes,” Mrs. Knowles joined in. “Dear Julia is doing such wonderful things.”
“Dear Julia is always tapping my acquaintances for money,” Lady Harkness snapped. “Do not worry, Julia. Jacob left a legacy for your missionaries as he promised to.”
Mrs. Tatlock looked mollified, but no less rigid. I remembered Daniel telling us he’d read Sir Jacob’s will, but he hadn’t revealed the details, except for the fact Sir Jacob’s son hadn’t been mentioned.
Mrs. Tatlock, at least, had benefited from Sir Jacob’s death, it seemed. I wondered how large the legacy was.
Lady Harkness set down her empty cup. “Sheppard doing a bunk has left me in a sad position. It’s difficult for me to go through Jacob’s things.”
Her eyes filled with tears, which she hastily blinked away. Cynthia took up the pot and refilled her cup.
“At least you have dear Mr. Pasfield,” Mrs. Knowles pointed out. “He is ever so helpful. Coming ’round at all hours, always on hand to help search for something or carry a load.”
“Too much so,” Mrs. Tatlock said with disapproval. “He ought to understand that Millie is bereaved and leave her be. His presence is unseemly.”
Lady Harkness’s fingers tightened in her lace gloves. “If you ladies are implying that Mr. Pasfield is trying to court me, you are both mad. He was Jacob’s dearest friend. My Jacob never forgot his roots, your ladyship,” she said to Cynthia. “He didn’t abandon his friends when he moved up in the world. Mr. Pasfield and he were thick as thieves, always were, ever since we were children in Liverpool. Jacob was so kind to everyone . . .”
She broke off, clattered her cup to the table, and pulled out a black linen square to catch tears that trickled from her eyes. “I beg your pardon, Lady Cynthia.”
“Not at all,” Cynthia said briskly. “I’ve lost loved ones. It’s a difficult thing. I am glad your husband’s friend has been here to lend a hand.”
“He has.” Lady Harkness dabbed at her cheeks. “I don’t know what I would do without dear Leonard’s shoulder to lean on. But Julia and Amelia are ridiculous to suggest that his purpose is to marry me. Nothing could be further from his mind. I have no wish to marry again, and Mr. Pasfield knows this. He is a friend.”
Her annoyance made me believe her. She was surprised at the idea, not flushing and trying to brush it aside. If Mr. Pasfield was always underfoot, it was not to get in good with the widow—or at least, not in Lady Harkness’s opinion.
“What will you do with the Chinese items?” Cynthia asked. “Can you sell them? Or were they willed out of your hands?”
“Jacob made small bequests,” Lady Harkness said, returning to the comfort of her coffee. “To servants, to Julia’s missionary fund—mainly because she harped at him for months about it.”
“It’s for a good cause, Millie,” Mrs. Tatlock said in answer to Lady Harkness’s withering look. “Not for me personally.”
“So she states, every day. Do not worry, Julia. I will not contest the will. Jacob had no heirs—we had no children.” Lady Harkness’s voice became sorrowful. “We were not blessed. The whole lot comes to me after the bequests, and then yes, I’ll sell up. Mr. Pasfield is helping me separate what is valuable from the silly souvenirs Jacob tended to bring home. I imagine some antiques merchant would like to get his hands on the Ming pottery.”
“But there is no hurry,” Mrs. Knowles said quickly. “It’s too soon to part with your husband’s things.”
I saw worry in Mrs. Knowles’s eyes, as well as Mrs. Tatlock’s quelling look at her. Mrs. Knowles caught the glance, and she gulped and closed her mouth.
“My Jacob was what I call an optimistic collector,” Lady Harkness said with a faint smile. “He’d have no idea of the value of an item, only that he liked it and hoped it would make money sooner or later.”
“Still, he found many lovely things,” Cynthia said. “So I’ve seen.”
“Yes, but it grows wearying.” Lady Harkness sighed. “Though I wouldn’t be surprised if a few of the gewgaws are worth small fortunes. Jacob was a dab hand at turning a penny into a pound,” she finished proudly.
“A skill many of us would like to have,” Cynthia said. “More coffee, Lady Harkness?”
* * *
• • •
The ladies departed within the hour. After she saw them off, Cynthia helped me gather plates and cups and carry them out. Ignoring my protests, she led the way down to the kitchen and lugged her load into the scullery. Brushing off her skirt, she sat at the kitchen table and helped herself to the remains of the sponge cake.
“What did you think, Mrs. H.?”
I finished setting the dishes next to the scullery sink and then poured myself tea and sat down across from her. The kitchen and servants’ hall were quite empty—Tess must have gone up to bed with the rest of the staff.
“I gathered Lady Harkness is not as slow witted as her two friends wish her to be,” I said. “She realizes they’re hanging on to her skirts for what they can get.”
“I must say I do have a little more respect for her now.” Cynthia dunked her cake into the remains of her cold coffee and took a large bite. “Decent grub,” she said around crumbs. “Coffee excellent too.”
“Thank you.” I gave her a nod. “They wished her to believe Mr. Pasfield is smitten with her, but her adamancy that he is not was genuine. She would know him better than they, if he lived in China with her and Sir Jacob.”
“I caught that. I do wonder though if Pasfield is in cahoots with the companions, trying to steer Lady Harkness into marriage with him. Perhaps Pasfield has promised Mistresses Knowles and Tatlock loot if he marries the wealthy Lady Harkness.”
“I think marriage to Mr. Pasfield is their own idea,” I mused. “A way to keep Lady Harkness in London a while longer. I wonder if Lady Harkness will drop the acquaintance once she is home in Liverpool with family and old friends.”
“I’d like to speak to the lady away from her two leeches,” Cynthia said decidedly. “They are very keen to make certain she doesn’t simply sell up and bolt.”
“I wish I knew whether they were looking for Mr. Li’s tea specifically. Or are they simply after anything that could turn a profit?”
“Difficult to say. I imagine they’ll fall upon whatever they can sell. I also wonder if Mrs. Tatlock is truly gathering money for her missionaries, and if they exist at all.”
“That would be easy to discover,” I said. “Find out which group she claims to be affiliated with and ask them.”
“I can do that. Auntie knows all the institutions for the less fortunate, and she’ll be chuffed I’m taking an interest. I also had a thought—I can send Bobby to follow Mr. Pasfield about. She’s keen to help.”
“Is she?” I asked in surprise.
“She says so, and she’s not dim. Bobby can follow Pasfield, or even hunt up Sheppard. She knows a lot of blokes and their valets.”
“If she doesn’t mind,” I said, trying not to sound too eager.
“No, indeed. Bobby is
weary of the tedium of life. Why do you think she’s trying to leave her gender behind? Sitting and embroidering would kill her. She finds more freedom as a man, but she admits that even they fall into their routines. Luncheon and newspapers at the club, whisky and women at the gaming hells, then back home to the wife and children, pretending to be virtuous gentlemen.”
“Not all men behave so,” I said quickly.
“You are thinking of Mr. Thanos,” Cynthia said, reddening. “We are fortunate to be acquainted with exceptional gentlemen. Bobby is uncertain what to do with herself. She can’t literally become a man, and she refuses to remain a woman—that is, marrying and setting up a nursery as her father wants her to. She’s at a bit of a loose end.”
“I would welcome her help,” I said in some sympathy. “As long as she is discreet.”
“She’s dressed and lived as a man for years in a world that would condemn her for it. I’d say she’s learned to be discreet.”
“Then please ask her.” I took a fortifying sip of tea. “Tess has said she’s finding out some things next door, which worries me a bit.”
“You’ll keep her calm, Mrs. H. You’ve already done wonders with her.”
I wasn’t certain about that, but before I could respond, someone banged on the back door. It wasn’t Daniel’s knock, and I wasn’t expecting him, but I hurried out to lift the bolt.
“Mrs. Finnegan,” I said in surprise. That lady stood in the doorway in her cook’s apron and cap, both garments soaked by the fine rain sleeting down.
“Mrs. Redfern sent me running over, Mrs. Holloway,” she said, her eyes wide in her wet face. “The mistress has taken sore ill. Mrs. Redfern says she’s been poisoned!”
17
I snatched up a shawl and hurried out after the distraught Mrs. Finnegan, Lady Cynthia on my heels.
“She were right as rain when she came home,” Mrs. Finnegan said to me as we hastened along to the house next door. “She went straight to bed. As soon as she lay down, she came over sick. Barely was able to ring the bell to summon help. Mrs. Redfern is with her now.”
She led us down the stairs and into the Harkness kitchen. Cynthia’s gray gown was spotted with rain, as she’d not taken the time to fetch a shawl or coat.
The kitchen had been cleaned for the night, but Mrs. Knowles stood near the table, facing a tight-lipped Griffin, the lady’s maid. Griffin held a basin of water, and Mrs. Knowles was trying to take it away from her. The battle had resulted in most of the water splashing to the slates and down the front of both women’s dresses.
Mrs. Finnegan stopped and wrung her hands, doing nothing useful, but Cynthia stepped briskly forward. “Ladies, please! If you’re fighting over who takes up the water, I’ll do it.”
She held out her hands. Mrs. Knowles backed away, red faced, and Griffin straightened her back. “No need, your ladyship,” she said coldly, before she turned and marched out with the basin.
Cynthia motioned me to accompany her, and I followed her and Griffin upstairs, Mrs. Knowles trailing behind us.
Lady Harkness’s bedchamber was on the second floor, and as full of Oriental clutter as the rest of the house. The bedstead was a fantastic latticed creation of rosewood with heavy carved feet and hangings of red velvet.
Lady Harkness lay in the bed in a dressing gown, her face yellow-green with illness. Mrs. Redfern stood like a sentry at the head of the bed, Mrs. Tatlock at the window as though she’d been banished there. Another maid tearfully emptied the contents of a washbasin into the slop pail.
Griffin replaced the soiled basin with the one she’d brought from the kitchen. She wrung out a rag in the clean water and went to the bed, where she patted the damp cloth to Lady Harkness’s brow as tenderly as a mother.
Mrs. Redfern lifted a glass from the night table and came to us, thrusting the glass under my nose. “What is in that?” she demanded. “Mrs. Finnegan had no idea.”
I took it and sniffed. The glass was empty, but I smelled the faint remnants of its contents. “Mustard.” I sniffed again. “And lobelia.”
“I smelled the mustard,” Mrs. Finnegan said behind me. “Ain’t no poison in that.”
“But mustard can be an emetic,” I answered, returning the glass to Mrs. Redfern. “Lobelia is certainly a powerful one. Similar to ipecac.”
“I am trying to discover which of them gave it to her,” Mrs. Redfern said.
Mrs. Knowles raised her hands. “I poured out the glass from the bottle and had her drink it. I didn’t know what was in it, I promise you. I thought her tonic.”
“Tonic,” Mrs. Tatlock sneered from the window. “I saw you dump that vial into the glass before you handed it to her.”
“I thought it was her tonic!” Mrs. Knowles wailed. “I couldn’t smell. My nose is all plugged tonight.” She sniffled as though to prove it.
Mrs. Redfern eyed the ladies coldly. “I must ask you both to leave this house. Whether done on purpose or not, her ladyship is quite ill. I am prepared to call the constable to escort you out if you do not leave on your own.”
Mrs. Tatlock’s scowl deepened. Mrs. Knowles drew herself up, though she couldn’t quite meet Mrs. Redfern’s eye. “Well, I never. When dear Millie is better, she’ll sack you for this.”
On the bed, Lady Harkness groaned. I could not say whether she understood their words, but it was the moan of a woman in distress.
“Come along, ladies,” Lady Cynthia said. “I’ll see you downstairs.”
She shooed the two women toward the door. Mrs. Tatlock went at once, leaving in chilly silence. Mrs. Knowles continued to fret, but she at last fled the room, Cynthia herding her.
The front door slammed not long later. I hoped we hadn’t just let a murderer out into the rainy night.
* * *
• • •
I remained in the bedchamber awhile longer, though it was clear I could do nothing but suggest they have Lady Harkness drink a great deal of water and weak tea. If the dose had been only a purge, it should not kill her. Tea, and much later, a bit of bread, should settle her stomach.
I left Lady Harkness in the charge of her dragons Griffin and Redfern and returned below stairs. There Mrs. Finnegan bustled about making tea while I sank wearily to the table in the empty servants’ hall.
“Poor woman,” Mrs. Finnegan said, carrying in a teapot and cups on a large tray. “Better to have no friends at all than companions like those.”
I had to agree. As I sipped the tea Mrs. Finnegan poured, I thought over the tangle of events and what they could mean.
Sir Jacob had been murdered after being left in his bedroom alone, Sheppard the valet finishing with him at nine o’clock in the evening. Mr. Chancellor, departing the house after learning Sir Jacob had retired for the night, had spied a Chinaman in the street. He’d assumed it was Mr. Li, whom he’d met before, but I now believed it was the young man called Zhen, who’d presumably come to try to see his father.
If Zhen was the person Sir Jacob had gone to meet at Kew earlier that evening, perhaps they’d quarreled, and Zhen had followed Sir Jacob home. To continue the quarrel? To beg for money? To murder him?
The afternoon of the day Sir Jacob had been found dead, Mr. Chancellor had gone through the garden digging at tea bushes and taking a few shoots. Lady Harkness’s companions had begun rooting through the house, claiming they were “helping” Lady Harkness have a clear-out. Mr. Pasfield, it seems, was assisting them.
Mr. Li, having traveled from China in search of the man who’d stolen his father’s tea, had been in the vicinity of this house several times before Sir Jacob’s death, including the night he’d had the appointment with Sir Jacob. I had to be honest with myself. Even though I hadn’t noted Mr. Li until I’d run into him the day of the garden party, he could have come to Mount Street many times.
Because of his proficiency with English, Mr. Li had been ab
le to obtain a post as a translator once he’d reached London, and then found work assisting Mr. Sutherland. Mr. Li had convinced Mr. Sutherland to contact Sir Jacob and suggest that Mr. Li help translate the markings on some very ancient pottery Sir Jacob had collected. An excuse, I now knew, Mr. Li had invented to get himself into Sir Jacob’s home or garden where he could search for the purloined tea.
Mr. Li turned up for his appointment only to find the man out. Had Sir Jacob decided he had better things to do that evening, or had he not been informed of the appointment at all?
I wondered who had read the letter from Mr. Sutherland suggesting the meeting between Sir Jacob and Mr. Li—did Sheppard go through his master’s correspondence? Lady Cynthia said Sir Jacob expected Sheppard to be always by his side. Sheppard had, in fact, accompanied Sir Jacob to Kew Gardens on the fateful night.
Perhaps Sheppard, all along, had planned to kill his master, and seized the opportunity of a foreign stranger wanting to call a few weeks before the murder. He suppressed the letter from Mr. Sutherland asking Sir Jacob for the appointment with Mr. Li, and suggested that Sir Jacob go out the night of the meeting. Then Sheppard could claim that Mr. Li had simply turned up and tried to gain admittance—most suspicious. The result was that Inspector McGregor had focused on Mr. Li right away.
Mr. Li or Mr. Sutherland might be able to produce a letter from Sir Jacob fixing the time, but if Sheppard had written the letter, purporting to be Sir Jacob, everyone could rightly say that Sir Jacob had never penned it.
Sheppard, also, had been the only one to see Sir Jacob in Kew Gardens the night of the murder—he could have invented the fact that Sir Jacob disappeared into the mist for a bit, making us believe Sir Jacob met a villain who might have followed him home and killed him.
Or perhaps Lady Harkness had hidden the letter making the appointment, for the same purpose. She too would have access to her husband’s papers, might have acted as his secretary—Mrs. Redfern would know. Lady Harkness seemed truly grieved at her husband’s death, but perhaps she hadn’t realized, until the deed was done, how much she loved him. I’d seen a husband who’d beaten his wife to death in a horrible temper weep and wonder how he’d live without her.
Death in Kew Gardens Page 18
