Chapter 7 #2
“I don’t think anything yet,” I said carefully. “But it is certainly a possibility. We cannot assume. Only theorize.” As soon as the words were out, I realized what I had done.
Delia raised a questioning brow. “Now you sound like a detective.”
Inspector Dumond, in fact. Mr. Dorian’s most famous creation.
I let out a huff, as I was exceedingly cross with myself, just as the constable returned. “I think it’s fine for you to put the kettle on, ma’am.”
“Excellent,” I said, practically leaping to my feet. It was good to stay busy at a time like this. If nothing else, it would help keep my mind off thoughts of arrogant inspectors, dead bodies, and, most of all, irritating mystery writers.
I had just finished pouring our cups of tea when there was a loud pounding at the door.
Officer Byrne let out a weary sigh as he set down his cup and moved to answer it. “Prepare yourselves, ladies,” he said ominously.
Delia and I exchanged a look. There was the low murmur of voices in the entryway and the shuffle of feet. The detective had not arrived alone. Officer Byrne returned to the parlor, while three other men walked past down the hall.
He gave us a smile. “They’re taking a look around first. Then the detective will come speak with you.”
“Anything we can do to help,” I said genially, then took a sip.
The murmur of voices and the sound of footsteps continued as the men moved methodically around the flat.
Eventually, a young man with dark hair and a strangely familiar stern expression entered the parlor.
“Good evening,” he said, radiating a kind of smooth, self-satisfied air that caused me to dislike him immediately. “I am Detective Inspector Dorian.”
Out the corner of my eye, I could see Delia glance over at me, but I could not meet her gaze. I was simply too stunned to look away from the detective.
Mr. Dorian had mentioned his younger brother once during our investigation on Corfu.
It had taken us to the island of Paxos and, after the man we had hired to ferry us there had gotten extremely drunk, we were forced to spend the night.
It was over dinner that Mr. Dorian revealed that he had a younger brother who followed in their late father’s footsteps by joining Scotland Yard.
I also recalled that this man did not think very highly of Mr. Dorian’s literary pursuits.
“Please give me your names,” Detective Inspector Dorian prompted before turning to me.
“I am Mrs. Minerva Harper,” I began. “And this is my sister, Delia Everly.”
With a frown, he turned to her. “Is that true?”
Delia nodded sheepishly. “Yes.”
He looked between us for a moment, considering something.
Then the front door opened once more, and a large man with a shock of red hair and a beard to match entered the parlor.
“Inspector Donnelly. Excellent timing. You will take Miss Everly into the kitchen for questioning.” Then his dark gaze narrowed on me.
“While Mrs. Harper will remain here with me.”
Delia inhaled sharply, and I reached for her hand. “Might we not stay together, Detective Inspector?” I asked in a cloying tone of voice I only used when trying to charm a man, which, frankly, did not happen very often. But my attempt to appeal to the man’s emotions utterly failed.
“No, you may not,” he said flatly.
“It will be all right,” I murmured to Delia. She shot me a dubious look, but squeezed my hand and stood.
Inspector Donnelly held out his arm. “Right this way, Miss Everly.”
He seemed genial enough, which was a relief. Better that I was to be questioned by Inspector Dorian than my sister. She cast me one last look before exiting the room. After a moment, I heard the door to the kitchen shut soundly behind her.
Detective Inspector Dorian then walked to the armchair the constable had set in front of the sofa for our tea and took a seat.
“Alone at last,” he said as he steepled his hands.
“Now then, Mrs. Harper. Would you be so good as to tell me about your evening and how you came to find Mr. Pearson’s body? ”
A part of me whispered caution. That I shouldn’t tell this man a thing. But this was also an opportunity to guide his investigation. It was clear to me that, at the very least, Delia and I were both now suspects. And that this might be my only chance to plant the seeds of doubt in his mind.
I shifted in my chair and cleared my throat.
“Certainly. I agreed to attend an opening at the Elysium Gallery in Soho with Delia. She is an artist and had a painting on display. I met her at our parents’ house in Portman Square at approximately eight o’ clock, and we left for the gallery around nine.
There we met Mr. Pearson, who is a friend of Delia’s.
We stayed at the gallery for about an hour, I suppose, before we headed to the home of Lord Linden, who was hosting a gathering. ”
The inspector had been taking notes, but at the mention of the baron, he raised an eyebrow and glanced up at me. I surmised that the baron’s parties were well-known enough to reach the ears of Scotland Yard. Interesting, though perhaps not surprising.
“I see. Go on,” the inspector prompted.
“We stayed there for another hour or so before we left at my request—”
“Why?”
The sharp question startled me. “Because I was tired,” I shot back.
The inspector sat back in his chair and gave me another one of those considering looks. “By my estimation, it was just after midnight. That is considered quite early for a guest to depart from a society function.”
“Well, I am not most guests, Inspector Dorian,” I said crossly. I was being rather impertinent and expected to be chastised, but to my surprise, the man only smiled a bit and took up his pen once more.
“All right. Please, continue.”
“As my sister, Mr. Pearson, and I were making to leave, another guest offered the use of his carriage to take us home, which we accepted.”
“His name?” he asked, without looking up from his scribblings.
Admittedly, I am not proud of how I behaved in this moment.
But given the series of events I had endured over the course of the evening, coupled with a lack of sleep, I could not help but engage in a bit of pettiness.
I paused until the inspector glanced up at me in question.
Then I pretended to think, as if the name had escaped me.
“Stephen Dorian,” I finally said. “The author.”
An outright scowl clouded his expression. “And you did not think to mention this sooner?”
I widened my eyes. “Oh! Is he a relation of yours?”
He scoffed, clearly not believing my reaction. “He is my brother.”
“Well, I would never assume,” I explained.
He narrowed his eyes at me. “And was tonight the first time you met?”
I hesitated. I had underestimated his interest in his brother.
For a very brief moment, I considered lying, but that could only lead to more complications.
“I don’t see how that is relevant to this matter, but no, it was not,” I replied with as much disinterest as I could muster, as if the subject bored me.
But instead of responding, the inspector began to study the paper before him.
“Minerva Harper,” he drawled. I felt an uneasy prickling at the base of my neck, as though this man knew far more about me than he was letting on.
Then he shot me a challenging look, as if he had heard my thoughts.
“And I suppose it’s only a coincidence that your initials happen to match the dedication in his latest book? ”
Somehow I managed to keep my composure and simply tilted my head in question. “You’ve read it?”
The inspector’s look of surprise was most gratifying.
He had not meant to admit that. He began to say something, then seemed to think better of it and shook his head.
“Never mind. As you said, it bears no relevance to this case.” Then he straightened his spine and resumed his questioning.
“What time did you arrive at your parents’ house? ”
“One in the morning,” I replied, somewhat relieved that we had moved on from discussing Stephen Dorian.
“I remember because the grandfather clock chimed just after we entered. Then Delia and I went upstairs and talked for a bit before we went to bed. I fell asleep, and she woke me up a short while later in great distress as she had found Mr. Pearson’s body.
We then returned here and called the police. ”
He raised an eyebrow. “So your sister first came to the flat alone, encountered the body and left, and then you both returned here.”
“That is correct.”
“And how did you enter?”
“The servant’s staircase.”
“Ah. Naturally.”
I lifted my chin at his sarcastic tone. “I will not pretend that I was not scandalized by her actions, Inspector,” I began.
“But my sister had an understanding with Mr. Pearson and only came here to discuss a related matter. I would thank you not to insinuate anything that would damage her reputation,” I added.
“I am not at all concerned with the reputation of young ladies, Mrs. Harper,” he said hotly. “A man was murdered in his own home. Violently, I might add.”
The image of Charles Pearson’s lifeless body lying in a dark, glistening pool of his own blood flashed through my mind.
“I know,” I murmured as my throat went dry. “I did … I did see him.”
He softened ever so slightly. “Right. I am sorry for that.”
“I realize how all this must sound to you. But you must admit that we could just as easily have not informed Scotland Yard.”
He looked incredulous. “And do you expect me to thank you for that?”
“No. I expect you to conduct a thorough investigation. And it seems perfectly obvious to me that my sister does not possess the strength needed to bash a man’s head in.”
His eyes glittered with purpose. “It is my job not to make assumptions about anyone, Mrs. Harper. And let me assure you that I only seek the truth. If your sister is innocent—and you, for that matter—I will prove it.”
Though I knew perfectly well that I was innocent, I felt a shiver race down my spine nonetheless.
Clearly, this was not a man to be trifled with.
I tried to find some comfort in that knowledge, but couldn’t shake the feeling of uncertainty.
This situation had become far more complicated than I expected.
But I couldn’t lose my nerve. Not now. Not when my sister’s life, and possibly my own, was at stake.
“We arrived home just before one,” I began in a measured tone. “And it was only a little past two when Delia returned and woke me. We then placed the call to Scotland Yard here. I’m sure there is a record of it for you to confirm.”
“And I will. But if you are suggesting that it clears the two of you of suspicion, then—”
The detective was cut off by a loud bang from the entryway as someone slammed the door open.
“All right! That’s enough,” cried a highly irritated voice I hadn’t heard in years—and not a moment too soon.
“Oh God,” I muttered before glowering at the detective. “Who called him?”
Inspector Dorian frowned in confusion at my question, but I was already getting to my feet.
I swung open the sitting room door and found my brother Jack in the middle of haranguing Officer Byrne.
“I am John Francis Everly, the MP for Kensington,” he said, with the kind of inherent self-importance I had only found in men who had accomplished the dizzying feat of being born into wealth and privilege.
“And you cannot detain people without charge. This is my solicitor,” he continued, gesturing to a tall, thin man in spectacles who stood just behind him.
“And he excels in investigating police corruption. Or shall I form a committee and drag you down to parliament and make you answer for your crimes?”
Oh, but he was in a full-on bluster now. Officer Byrne shot me a panicked look over his shoulder.
“Jack, that is quite enough,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “We are not being detained against our will.”
My brother paused and turned toward me. The look of surprise on his face was almost worth having to deal with him in this state. “Minnie? What the devil are you doing here?”
I crossed my arms. “Funny, I was going to ask you the same.”
He frowned in confusion just as our sister stepped into the hallway wearing a sheepish expression. “I rang him while you were in the study earlier,” she admitted to me.
“Oh,” I replied, feeling rather betrayed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Delia shook her head, wide-eyed. “I suppose I just panicked and—”
Jack cut her off with an impatient huff. “Might we first deal with the more pressing issue before delving into a squabble?” Then he turned to the inspector. “You won’t get another word out of either of them without my solicitor present.”
“Jack,” I began on a sigh. “We are cooperating—”
“That’s all right, sir,” the inspector cut in with a self-satisfied smile of his own. “They are free to go. Your sister has been very helpful. Though I strongly suggest they both remain in London, should we need anything more from them.”
I did not appreciate being discussed as if I wasn’t even in the room, and as the two men stared each other down, I couldn’t decide who was being more insufferable.
“Come along,” I said to Delia. “I have no interest in watching a battle of egos. We will wait for you in the carriage, Jack.”
Then I turned on my heel and headed for the exit, with my sister following in my wake.