Chapter 8 #3
“Then I don’t need to go over the details of what occurred.”
My mother let out a breath. “No, you do not.” Her face had taken on an ashen color, and for a brief moment, I worried she might swoon. But then she gave herself a shake and met my eyes. “I am sorry.”
I blinked, certain I misheard her. For my mother had never apologized to me before. About anything. “Pardon?”
“I encouraged you to spend time with Delia. But I never thought she would involve you in anything like this.”
“Mother, it’s all right,” I said. “I wanted to go out with Delia last night.”
She stepped quickly towards me then and grasped my arm. Her hands were cold and clammy. “But Jack says you are now both suspects. That you could go to prison for being her accomplice! What will happen to your children? They’ve already lost their father. If you are then sent away, they—”
“Mother. Stop,” I stressed. “We aren’t suspects. They would have taken us to Scotland Yard if they truly thought so.” She let out a little gasp, but I pressed on. “I am not Delia’s accomplice, and she is innocent. Believe me. I saw the body, and there is no way she could have killed him.”
“You must prove it,” she blurted out.
I reared back a little. “Me?”
My mother nodded furiously. “Yes. I don’t trust the police on this, Minnie. They won’t be able to find the real killer and will blame the two of you instead.”
“Mother, I really don’t think that is the case here—”
“I know what you did on Corfu. Agatha told me,” she added. “The local police didn’t care about finding the real murderer of that girl, so you stepped in.”
I was tempted to point out that I very nearly was murdered myself in the process, but that would hardly help calm her down. “Yes, but this isn’t Corfu. And the detective I met seemed very capable.” That at least was true.
My mother scoffed. “The papers go mad for murderesses. Can you imagine what they will do over a pair of sisters?”
“But we aren’t,” I felt the need to state.
“What I told the police was the truth. And I believe Delia. There is no reason to think we will be charged with murder. Perhaps we will be questioned again, but I’m sure they found loads of evidence in that flat and will find even more once the investigation is underway. ”
I thought that all sounded very sensible, but my mother didn’t seem to hear a word. She had begun to pace and was biting her thumbnail, of all things. I would have been less surprised if she’d burst into a merry little jig.
“Besides,” I continued, “Jack thinks we should stay home, and I agree.”
“No,” my mother said decisively, “Delia should, but not you.” Then she stopped and pointed her finger at me. “You must find out everything you can. So we can be prepared.”
I had never seen her in such a state. Then a thought occurred to me. “Is something else going on?”
She shot me a haughty glare. “You mean something other than my two daughters being connected to a murder?”
I held up my hands in supplication. “Sorry. I know this must be very upsetting—”
“It’s shocking, Minnie!”
“Right. Yes,” I agreed, then gestured to the chair by the hearth. “Why don’t you sit?”
“I can’t sit,” she snapped, flashing me a desperate look. “There are too many feelings running through me.”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. No doubt this was a new experience for her. Like everything else in her life, my mother was used to controlling her emotions with an iron fist. “Please,” I said, taking her by the arm.
She eyed me for a moment, then let out a reluctant huff and sat down. Since there was only one chair, I made do with the footstool.
“Now,” I began, “I have not agreed to investigate, but I do think you are right about being prepared.”
My mother’s mouth curved in the faintest hint of a smug smile. “Good.”
“What do you know about Charles Pearson and his family?”
She considered this for a moment. “His parents are both dead. The father had a position in the government, though I don’t know exactly what he did.”
“Does he have any siblings?”
My mother frowned in thought. “A sister, I believe. But I don’t think she lives in London, though she’ll probably come down for the funeral.”
Funeral.
I would have to attend, of course. Funerals could be very informative in these kinds of situations. The murderer might even be in attendance themselves, if only to make sure they were not under suspicion.
“Do you know about his work?” I asked, trying to distract myself from the shiver running through me. “Delia said he dealt in art and antiques.”
My mother let out a scoff. “Lots of gentlemen dabble in such things. I can’t imagine he made much money off of it. And I’m sure he knew all about Delia’s dowry,” she added with a glower.
Barely two days ago, she had considered Charles Pearson to be a perfectly fine match for Delia, but I decided to hold my tongue.
Besides, if he really was married, Delia’s dowry was of little consequence to him.
Unless the man intended to commit bigamy.
And I was still stuck on the telephone in his flat.
It seemed like an unnecessary expense for a man who was merely dabbling in art and antiques.
“What are you thinking about?” My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts.
“Nothing,” I answered automatically. “I’m just trying to form a picture of Charles Pearson in order to decide whom I should speak to next.”
Apprehension flashed in her face. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be involved in this, after all. I didn’t think—”
“Mother,” I said gently, “I’ll be fine.”
She gave me a long look. “You must take care.”
“I will. Of course.” I gave her my most reassuring smile, but she didn’t return it, only sighed in response. “I should go and get Tommy,” I said as I rose. “But I’ll come see Delia tomorrow.”
“Good,” she said with a distracted nod as she also stood.
We then exited the room and headed for the staircase, only to find Morris waiting on the landing.
“Madame, Mrs. Harper,” he began with a little bow. “There is a gentleman downstairs—”
“I told you we aren’t receiving callers today,” my mother said with a huff.
“Yes, madame,” Morris continued smoothly, ever the professional. “I told the man, but he was very insistent. He said it concerned Mrs. Harper and Miss Delia.”
My mother froze beside me, but my heart lifted. Perhaps it was the inspector calling because he had caught the perpetrator. Then this could all be over.
“Who is it, Morris?”
The butler turned to me with a barely veiled look of interest. “Mr. Dorian, madame. And he asked specifically for you.”