Chapter 13
I spent the rest of our visit in a kind of dull haze, moving from display to display, but barely able to focus. Mr. Dorian, however, was in fine form and provided an excellent audience for Tommy’s boundless enthusiasm. When we had finally finished, he suggested we visit a tearoom nearby.
We found a table tucked away in a corner, and as we took our seats, Tommy went up to the counter to view the cakes and pastries on display.
“Thank you for today,” I said. “You were very patient with him.”
He flashed me a crooked smile. “It’s no trouble, Mrs. Harper. I enjoy the boy’s company.” Then his gaze softened to concern. “I take it this was the first time he mentioned wanting to attend school in England.”
I gave him my profile. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
He let out a sigh. “Then would you at least like to hear about the latest developments in the case?”
I whipped my head back. “You would tell me?”
“I hadn’t planned on it,” he remarked sardonically. “But since you are so determined to involve yourself, you should at least be informed.”
I leaned forward in my seat, unable to hide my excitement. “Well? What do you know?”
“They have ruled out a burglary gone wrong, as nothing of value appears to have been taken, even though the place is stuffed to the rafters with treasures.”
My stomach twisted a little. Though I hadn’t ever really thought a burglar had bashed Charles Pearson’s head in, it was another possibility that would have taken the suspicion firmly away from Delia. “So, they think it’s personal,” I said.
Mr. Dorian nodded. “They are looking into his background as we speak. And of course, that means …”
“Delia is still a possible suspect.”
“I’m afraid so.”
I swallowed hard. “What of Madame Fontaine? You spoke to her, didn’t you?”
But before he could respond, a young woman in an apron approached our table, followed swiftly by Tommy.
“Good afternoon,” she said with a sunny smile. “What can I get for you?”
“A large pot of tea for the lady and a coffee for myself,” Mr. Dorian said before addressing Tommy. “What have you decided on?”
“The Victoria sponge looked very good, Mama,” Tommy said, with pleading eyes.
I couldn’t help smiling at him. “All right. We will take a slice of that,” I told the girl.
“That one is my favorite too,” she told Tommy with a wink, and he ducked his head shyly as she walked away.
As his cheeks turned pink, I felt a bittersweet pang in my chest. He was growing up so quickly now, and all I could do was watch. But I did not have much time to ruminate as the girl swiftly returned with our drinks as well as the cake, which was as delicious as it looked.
“Did you really only visit the museum once before?” Tommy asked between comically large bites of cake.
“Yes, I’m afraid I was more partial to the South Kensington Museum as a girl,” I replied, as I poured us both a steaming cup of tea.
Mr. Dorian gave me a considering look over the rim of his coffee cup. “That one is mostly art, correct?”
Tommy made a face. “Sounds dull.”
I laughed. “Not to me. My favorite was the room with all the casts of masterpieces like Michelangelo’s David.
It’s an important museum,” I said, now warming up to the subject.
“Not everyone can travel to places like Rome or Athens to see such things in person, but why should that stop them from experiencing great works of art?”
Mr. Dorian was watching me with one of those inscrutable looks I couldn’t begin to interpret. “Well said,” he murmured, while Tommy shrugged and took another forkful of cake.
“I suppose,” he conceded. “But I still like the Natural History Museum better. Because that one has skeletons.”
“To each their own,” I said with a smile.
Once we finished, Mr. Dorian insisted on paying, despite my protests.
“May we walk home through the park?” Tommy asked once we were back on the pavement.
“Certainly.” By then, the day had warmed considerably, and there was even a bit of sun poking through the clouds. I was just about to bid Mr. Dorian good-bye when Tommy asked him to accompany us.
“If that is all right with your mother,” he replied, turning to me.
I managed to mimic our server’s sunny smile. “Of course.”
Together, we headed to Hyde Park, which was just a short walk away from the tearoom, and once we were past the gate, Tommy raced ahead.
“I truly do not know where he finds the energy,” I marveled.
Mr. Dorian chuckled. “It’s because he doesn’t have to worry about anything or work for his supper.”
“Yes, that’s true.” I hadn’t thought about that. But then, from what he had shared back on Corfu, Mr. Dorian’s childhood hadn’t been very idyllic.
“You asked about Madame Fontaine,” he said, as if he had heard my thoughts and was deliberately steering the conversation away from himself.
I nodded. “What made you visit her?”
“Mrs. Langham suggested it,” he said, and my jaw tightened.
But, of course, he would have discussed this with his …
his … whatever Mrs. Langham was to him. “They know each other from the theater scene, and apparently she knows a great deal about the baron’s set on account of her …
work.” His mouth twisted a little as he said the word, and I recalled his threat to expose Madame Fontaine.
“You don’t approve of her,” I replied, and he turned to me, surprised.
“Of course not. She’s a charlatan. It’s one thing to provide entertainment for people like Lord Linden, but she makes the bulk of her coin preying on those who can barely afford it. Surely you can agree.”
I tilted my head in consideration. “I might have thought so before I met her. But I can see how she provides a kind of comfort for the grieving. And anyone who is so desperate as to try to commune with the dead needs all the solace they can find. Even if it’s made up.
” Mr. Dorian scoffed, and I raised an eyebrow in challenge.
“Is that really so different from speaking with a priest?”
He stared back at me in wonder. “Are you telling me you are a nonbeliever, Mrs. Harper?”
I looked ahead. “I’m merely saying that both provide a service that is based on faith. On a belief in something that cannot be seen.” Mr. Dorian hummed in response. I turned back to him. “So what did she tell you, then?”
“That Charles Pearson was a bit of a cad—and married to boot. Madame Fontaine seemed to think he owed people money.”
“She said the same to me.” Then I pursed my lips. “I need to know more about his business with antiques. The man had a telephone in his flat, you know.”
That seemed to take Mr. Dorian by surprise. “Did he, now?” Then he frowned in thought. “I assumed he inherited much of his wealth and the antiques were more of a hobby.”
“No, I don’t think so. One doesn’t install a telephone over a hobby.”
“Quite right.”
“Perhaps he double-crossed someone, and they killed him,” I suggested. “I know your brother doesn’t think anything was taken from the flat, but how would he even know? From what I saw the man had a number of valuables in his possession.”
“That is one possibility,” Mr. Dorian allowed. “But I am afraid you are overlooking the most likely suspect: the wife.”
“But Madame Fontaine said she lives abroad.”
“She could have returned, though,” he pointed out. “And she will likely inherit everything. The spouse is always the prime suspect for that reason.”
I mulled over this for a moment. “All right. Say she did return to kill him. Why now?”
Mr. Dorian shrugged. “Maybe she needed money.”
“Or,” I began as an idea formed, “she knew Charles wanted to marry again and that she would no longer be his beneficiary. Even if he was in debt, I’m sure that collection of his is worth a pretty penny.”
He raised an eyebrow. “That is certainly a motive.”
I leaned forward. “Have you discussed any of this with your brother? Does he think Mrs. Pearson is a suspect?”
Mr. Dorian rolled his shoulders. “I haven’t spoken to him about this case since the morning after the murder.”
“But then how did you know about the development—”
“Because I paid for that information,” he said grimly. “Don’t look so shocked.”
“I’m not shocked,” I lied. “I’m confused. Why can’t you just ask him?”
His jaw tightened. “My brother would never willingly share information about a case he is working on with me. And he would only do that under great duress. He does not approve of my profession, Mrs. Harper.”
I shook my head. “I thought he read your books.”
He let out a humorless laugh. “My brother doesn’t read my books.”
“But he mentioned—” Then I stopped short, as I very much did not want to finish that sentence.
“Mentioned what?” he prompted.
“Just … something he said made me think he had read your last book,” I replied, hoping that would satisfy him.
Mr. Dorian narrowed his eyes. “What did he say?” He spoke slowly, emphasizing each word.
I swallowed and looked for Tommy. He was up ahead near the Serpentine, but too far to save me from this conversation. “He seemed to think the dedication was connected to me,” I said in a great rush as my cheeks heated.
It sounded utterly ridiculous now that I spoke it aloud, and to him of all people. The deafening silence that followed was all the confirmation I needed from Mr. Dorian.
“I see,” he finally replied.
I managed a nod in response, as I couldn’t look at him just yet. At least I could blame this assumption on his brother and found comfort in the knowledge that he would never know that I too had made the same inference once.
I cleared my throat, desperate to move on. “You told Madame Fontaine about me, then?” I cast a quick glance at him.
“I merely asked to be informed if you came to call on her.” Then he shot me a look. “It seemed a good way to know if you really were conducting your own investigation.”
Given the woman’s reaction to my appearance, I suspected he did more than simply ask. “And did you say that to anyone else?”
“No. But then I haven’t gotten around to speaking with anyone else,” he admitted. “Have you?”