Death in Kew Gardens

by Jennifer Ashley

  “All to prove to my father I was not stupid,” Mr. Li said bitterly. “One reason I came here to find the stolen tea was to show him I am worthy of his praise.” He gave me a sad smile. “He is past seventy-five years old. I am drawing close to sixty. And still I am wishing for my father’s approval.”

  “Huh,” James said. “I know exactly what you mean, Mr. Li.”

  Daniel gently swiped his hand over the back of James’s head, and we laughed.

  It was not so much James’s joke that made us laugh, but relief. A gruesome murderer had been caught, Mr. Li exonerated, and his tea found.

  I’d known Mr. Li had been innocent all along. Men may scoff at women’s intuition, but it is a powerful thing, and usually correct.

  23

  The next morning I was a bit sandy eyed, and so was Tess, but we turned our hands to getting breakfast on the table.

  Mr. Davis entered with his newspaper, whistling.

  “You are in a fine mood this morning, Mr. Davis,” I said, somewhat crossly.

  “I am indeed, Mrs. Holloway. The effect of an improving day out. I believe I will take them more often.”

  A knock sounded on the scullery door, and Elsie pulled it open. She flinched when she saw a constable standing there, but Tess dusted off her hands and came forward in welcome.

  “Good morning to ya, Caleb.”

  I studied her bright eyes and flushed face while the young constable stood a little straighter. Well, well.

  “Good morning, Tess—er, Miss Parsons. Mrs. Holloway. I’m here to make an arrest.”

  “An arrest?” I asked in confusion and some alarm. I thought of Cynthia and me tearing up precious plants in the Temperate House trying to get to Mr. Thanos. I’d also helped Mr. Li destroy priceless tea, which the police would consider had belonged to Sir Jacob, and now to Lady Harkness.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Caleb said then turned to Mr. Davis. “She here?”

  “Right this way, Constable.” Mr. Davis laid his newspaper on the table and motioned for Caleb to follow him.

  Tess and I exchanged a startled look then set down knives and spoons and hurried after them. Elsie abandoned her sink and followed us.

  Mr. Davis unlocked the door of the housekeeper’s parlor, opening it as the rest of us reached it. Inside, Mrs. Daley sat at her table with a magazine, a cup of tea in hand. She jerked her head up when the door banged open, her mouth open to harangue.

  Next to her teapot lay the carved wooden box Mr. Li had given me, gaping open.

  “Mrs. Daley!” I shrieked, running to it.

  The blasted woman had drunk half the tea left inside, and even now, she took a long gulp from her cup.

  I seized the box, snapping the lid closed. “You took this from my bedchamber. How dare you?”

  Mrs. Daley sent me a complacent look. “Cook has no business keeping secret stashes from the larder. I saw you carry it upstairs. I only brought it back down.”

  The constable had no interest in the tea. He walked to the bookcase and picked up a bowl of cut flowers, lifting the flowers out, water from the stems dripping to the rug. “Is this it, Mr. Davis?”

  Mrs. Daley rose hastily, knocking over her teacup in the process. The precious tea spread in a puddle across the table. “That’s mine!”

  The constable held up the bowl, sunlight from a high window catching on translucent porcelain decorated with a dragon chasing its tail.

  “I hardly think so,” I said when I found my breath. “It’s Ming, I believe. From Sir Jacob’s collection next door.”

  “It is indeed, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Davis said, exultant. “I am certain Lady Harkness can identify it as such. Or Mrs. Redfern, the housekeeper.”

  “Mrs. Finnegan let you in to visit?” I asked Mrs. Daley with a smile. I had requested that Mrs. Finnegan do so when I found a ruse to send Mrs. Daley next door, and to allow her upstairs, so that her thieving hands might light upon something they shouldn’t. I hadn’t put the plan into motion, as I’d been so busy with murders and finding a crop of tea, but Mr. Davis must have had a similar idea.

  “Mrs. Redfern did,” Mr. Davis said.

  He closed his mouth, but I saw the mirth in his eyes.

  So that was what he had done with his day out, and why he’d said it had been effective. He hadn’t visited old friends—he’d spent the time trying to rid us of Mrs. Daley.

  I felt humbled.

  Caleb was ready with his handcuffs. Another constable had entered the house as we’d cornered Mrs. Daley, and he and Caleb led her off. Mr. Davis carried out the Ming bowl, handling it gingerly before he wrapped it in part of his newspaper and gave it to Caleb to take as evidence.

  Mrs. Daley cursed and struggled as the constables pushed her out. She shot Mr. Davis and me a venomous glare, before the constables more or less dragged her up the stairs to the waiting police van. The van rumbled away under the delighted gazes of the neighbors’ servants and passing draymen.

  Elsie closed the door, and Mr. Davis rubbed his palms together and chuckled.

  “Well, ain’t you a close one,” Tess said admiringly.

  Mr. Davis slid off his butler’s coat, sat down at the table, and spread out the remains of his newspaper.

  “I decided that if Mrs. Daley could scrape up dirt on our pasts, I could scrape some up on hers,” he said. “Apparently, she’s known to the police. Has stolen from her employers before, but they couldn’t prove it. Mrs. Redfern was indignant on our behalf, and agreed to help.”

  “I’d thought of a similar scheme,” I said. “But you beat me to it, Mr. Davis.”

  “Ah well, you had your hands full assisting the police and fending off Mr. McAdam.” He leaned his elbows on the table, lifting the paper to begin reading.

  “Fending off Mr. McAdam?” I repeated. “Are you disparaging my character, Mr. Davis?”

  “No, indeed, Mrs. Holloway,” Mr. Davis said, not raising his eyes from the paper. “You can’t help that he’s smitten with you.”

  “Smitten,” I muttered, turning away.

  Mr. Davis ignored me. I poured him a cup of thick, rich coffee that he liked and set a crumpet dripping with butter next to him. I followed that with a large slice of seedcake.

  He deserved it, bless the man.

  * * *

  • • •

  I did not have to worry about fending off Mr. McAdam, because I did not see him until late that evening. Lady Cynthia returned just after supper, visiting the kitchen to tell me lightheartedly that Mr. Thanos was well.

  “Never met a heartier chap,” Cynthia said. “I stayed with him at the doctor’s and set him up with a nurse at his lodgings, but he’ll be walking about in a day or so. Now I’m going to heave myself into bed and sleep for many hours. I want you to tell me everything when I wake up. Oh—by the bye, Bobby found Sheppard. He’s valeting for a bloke in Windsor. Seems he was terrified that the killer would think he witnessed the murder, and fled. Wise man. Ah well, good night.”

  She helped herself to seedcake, her favorite, and disappeared upstairs.

  At least that mystery held a happy ending. I wished Sheppard well.

  An hour later, as I sat alone in the kitchen—which seemed a peaceful place tonight—Daniel came calling.

  I again shared Mr. Li’s tea with him—what was left of it—and told him about Mrs. Daley. He laughed loud and long.

  “Good on Mr. Davis. I’ve always admired him. Don’t worry about the tea, Kat. I’m sure Mr. Li can be convinced to part with more before he takes ship.”

  I sighed. “I want Mr. Li to return home and be happy, but I will miss him.”

  Daniel rested his hand on mine. “I know you will. You’re a good woman, Kat Holloway.”

  “So you’ve said.”

  “Mr. Li was very lucky you ran into him that day.” Daniel sent me a teasing look. “
I know I am easily knocked from my feet by you.”

  “Don’t be daft,” I said, but gently. “Mr. Li was trying to find a way into Sir Jacob’s house or at least his garden that afternoon. So, indeed, it was lucky. Running into me no doubt made him abandon the idea, or he might have been caught and arrested at once.”

  “Indeed he might have. Being stuck in jail would have cleared him of Sir Jacob’s murder, but who knows what they would have done to the chap merely for trespassing?”

  I nodded. It didn’t bear thinking about. Mr. Li must go home, where he’d be safer.

  I let my fingers twine through Daniel’s. “Now that the puzzle of Mr. Li has been solved, I’ve returned to the puzzle of you.”

  “That sounds worrying.” Daniel smiled, but his eyes held uneasiness.

  “Yes. I think I know—or partly know—who you work for.”

  “Mmm.” The uneasiness increased. “Do tell.”

  “I have noticed a pattern.” I caressed his fingers as I spoke. “When our kitchen maid was killed, and the Fenians were likely involved, you began to investigate. Then you were sent to Scotland, a journey about which you have told me little. Next you were put into place when antiquities from foreign lands went missing. Now you are commanding constables again, and the country in question is China. In other words, you are given resources whenever the tangle involves someplace outside England.” I paused, watching him. “Ergo, I conclude you work for the Foreign Office.”

  Daniel relaxed. “Not . . . quite.”

  “But my guess is near the mark.”

  “The devil of it is, Kat, I can’t tell you whether it is or not.”

  I stroked his thumb. “It no longer matters. I am fairly good at deciphering puzzles. I will learn all about you in time.”

  He leaned closer. “When you do—and I have no doubt you will—please keep it to yourself. It’s very important. Life and death is no exaggeration.”

  “You have nothing to worry about from me,” I said in a quiet voice. It was only the truth.

  “Thank you, Kat.”

  We sat in silence a moment before Daniel said, “I do believe you should cease doing that.”

  I frowned. “Doing what?”

  He trapped my moving thumb. “That. I am not made of stone.”

  I let my hand go limp, and Daniel untwined our fingers. Cool air touched my palm, making my hand feel even more empty.

  “I have no idea what you are talking about,” I said softly.

  Daniel spoke into my ear. “When you are close to me, there is danger that I might want to seduce you.”

  I thought about this, his breath warming me pleasantly. “I see. But perhaps I would not mind.”

  His eyes flickered, some of the emotion in them surprise. He had not thought I’d say that.

  “In that case, I had better depart.”

  Daniel pressed a kiss to my lips, a long one, and tender, before he rose to his feet. He gazed down at me for a time, while I remained seated, my legs too weak to let me rise.

  “Good night, Kat.”

  He leaned and kissed my cheek, so softly that my thoughts went to seduction once more, but with me as seducer.

  Daniel’s grin made his eyes twinkle, and he left me alone, banging the door as he went.

  Quite right that he should go. A kitchen was no place for passion.

  * * *

  • • •

  In the morning after breakfast, Mrs. Redfern came to visit. I ushered her into the housekeeper’s parlor and brought in a pot of tea, pushing aside the clutter Mrs. Daley had left. I’d have to clear out the entire room.

  “I’m finished next door when the month is out,” Mrs. Redfern said, a note of sadness in her voice. “Lady Harkness will journey north at the end of this week, and the staff not going with her will pack up the house and then be done. Except Mrs. Finnegan. She is going to marry Mr. Pasfield.”

  “Ah,” I said, unsurprised. “I believe they’ll make a fine match.”

  Mrs. Redfern nodded. “Yes, they swim along quite well.” She sipped tea then let out a sigh. “I have come to you with hat in hand, Mrs. Holloway. I know you are out a housekeeper.”

  “Such as she was.” I grimaced, and then nodded. “I think it a brilliant idea, Mrs. Redfern. I know Mr. Davis will approve. I will put it to Lady Cynthia, and she will persuade her aunt. Lord Rankin pays the staff—which is a mercy—but Mrs. Bywater has the authority to hire. I warn you, she can be a bit . . . difficult . . . about money.”

  “That does not worry me,” Mrs. Redfern said staunchly. “I am expert at managing household budgets. And employers.”

  I clicked my cup to hers. “Then I look forward to it.”

  “As do I.” Mrs. Redfern looked happier as she lifted the pot. “May I pour you more tea, Mrs. Holloway?”

  “An excellent idea,” I said, holding out my cup. “Thank you, Mrs. Redfern.”

  Don’t miss the next book in the Below Stairs Mysteries.

  Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!

  Photo by Silvio Portrait Design

  Jennifer Ashley is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of the Below Stairs Mysteries, including Scandal Above Stairs and Death Below Stairs, and winner of a Romance Writers of America RITA Award. She also writes as national bestselling and award-winning author Allyson James and bestselling author Ashley Gardner. She lives in the Southwest with her husband and cats, and she spends most of her time in the wonderful worlds of her stories.

  You can contact her online at jenniferashley.com and visit her at facebook.com/JenniferAshleyAllysonJamesAshleyGardner and twitter.com/JennAllyson.

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