CHAPTER 5 #3
Julia stood for a moment, listening. The door to the morning room stood ajar, and a fire crackled in the grate, so she tapped and went in.
It took her a moment to locate Mary. A still, alabaster-faced girl hugging her knees stared from the window seat with red-rimmed eyes.
Then she shook herself and swung her feet to the carpet.
“Doctor, forgive me. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Inspector Tennant sent for me.” Julia took her hand. “My dear, I’m so sorry.” Mary’s icy fingers felt as though they might snap at the slightest pressure. “You’re cold. Come away from the window.”
Julia led Mary to a chair by the fire. The girl smoothed the white painter’s smock that covered her dress and sat. “I’m sorry to receive you like this.”
“No matter.”
“I’d gotten an early start in the studio. Then they came for me. An accident, they said. But he . . . he used my paint.” Mary shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “He used my Paris Green to . . .”
“I’m sorry,” Julia said gently.
Tears welled. Mary blinked and turned her face away. “I had no idea about the arsenic until you told me,” she said, her voice shaking. “When I mentioned it to Charles, he said Louisa—oh.” Her hand flew to her mouth.
“What did your brother say?”
“It was only a joke. A silly joke. Charles told me to lock it away. That Louisa was so fed up with his moods, she might add it to the absinthe I brought home from France. Good God, I can’t believe it.” Mary closed her eyes. “But he hadn’t been the same since . . .”
“Since his accident?”
“Before that. Since I returned from Paris in the autumn. After the accident, he’d grown moodier still.”
“Mary, I’d like to take your pulse and listen to your heart. May I?”
The girl stared at Julia, hollow-eyed. Finally, she nodded.
Julia took her wrist and timed the beats on her pocket watch. Then she took the stethoscope from her bag and asked Mary to remove her smock and unbutton the top of her dress. Julia listened, satisfied with what she heard.
“I’ll leave you with a mild sleeping draught. You can decide if you need it.” She closed her case. “Shall I check on your sister-in-law?”
“Doctor Scott was here and left something to help her sleep.” Mary leaned on her elbow, looking into the fire. “Doctor Scott . . . Charles had some nagging ailments. Sleeplessness. His eyes were giving him trouble, and Scott thought spectacles might relieve his headaches.”
“Was he taking anything for them?”
Mary shrugged. “I don’t know. I know nothing.
Nothing about Charles’s pain. Nothing about what drove him.
Nothing.” With each repetition of the word, Mary struck the flat of her hand against the armrest. “Oh, God,” she cried, her voice breaking.
“How could I not know?” She covered her face with her hands, sobbing.
Julia kneeled by her chair and put her arm around the girl’s shaking shoulder and let her cry.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Mary tried to get up. “I must check on Lou.”
“If Louisa is asleep, it’s better to let her be.”
Mary slumped back in her chair and fished in her pocket. “I never have a handkerchief when I need one.”
Julia gave Mary hers and sat across from her. It was all so familiar: the shock and confusion, the regrets and recriminations. Six years . . . nearly seven.
“Mary?” She waited for the girl to meet her eyes. “I want to tell you something. Something I know from bitter experience. When someone you love takes their life, your mind searches in circles for reasons. And you blame yourself for not seeing the signs.”
“Yes . . .”
“You’ll feel many things that aren’t your fault.”
“I asked Charles if business matters were troubling him. He denied it, but I had a sense the answer was yes. Perhaps I only wish it were true. An easy answer.”
A knock at the front door sounded loud in the silence of the household.
Mary stood, brushing her cheeks. “This may be Cyril. Mister Eastlake is our family solicitor. I sent the coachman with a message about Charles.”
A trim man of average height in early middle age entered the room.
He had close-cropped graying hair and a neatly trimmed mustache.
He wore a dark frock coat, stiff upturned collar, and conservatively patterned necktie, the uniform of his profession.
Everything about him telegraphed the solidity, competence, and discretion of a perfect family retainer.
“Mary, my dear.” Eastlake took her hand. “Such an appalling tragedy. How is Louisa?”
“She’s . . . she’s resting. Cyril.” Mary turned away. “This is Doctor Julia Lewis.”
Eastlake blinked. “Doctor?”
“I treated Mister Allingham after his skating accident.”
“You treated him?” The man looked shocked. “Not Doctor Scott?”
“He wasn’t at Regent’s Park. I was. I treated Mister Allingham at the scene.”
“Oh. Well, I imagine he consulted Doctor Scott later. Have you seen Louisa, Doctor Lewis? How is Mrs. Allingham?”
Before Julia answered, Inspector Tennant entered the room. He offered Mary his condolences, and she introduced him to Mister Eastlake.
Julia saw the wheels turn in the lawyer’s eyes. Yet, he didn’t ask the obvious question: What was a detective from the Metropolitan Police doing at the scene of a suicide? A patient man, Julia thought, who waits for information to come to him.
“Cyril, can you—” Mary jumped when the sitting room door flew open, and the handle cracked against a bookcase.
“I’m sorry,” Louisa Allingham said from the doorway. She looked at her black-gloved palm and said, “The doorknob slipped from my grasp.”
Louisa looked beautiful and bereft in a jet-black widow’s frock, her face a pale mask above its high dark collar. Eastlake crossed the room. He caught up her hand and cradled it before raising it to his lips.
“Louisa, my dear.”
Slowly, she lifted her gaze to his face. “It’s a terrible mistake. Charles . . . he wouldn’t. Cyril, you knew him. He could never . . . It must be an accident.” Louisa pulled her hand away and let it drop.
Eastlake put his arm around her shoulder. “My dear, we’re looking into it. Leave it to Mary and me. You should be resting.” He looked at Julia. “Doctor Lewis, will you insist?”
Julia nodded to Mary. She slipped her arm around her sister-in-law’s waist. “Come, Lou,” she said gently.
Louisa looked at Tennant. “Richard . . . Richard, you will help us, won’t you? Find the truth about Charles?”
“Of course,” he said.
“Thank you,” Louisa said, smiling tremulously. Mary led her away.
The weak and the strong, Julia thought. All sympathy and concern flowed toward Louisa Allingham. It’s natural for the widow. But Mary . . . Julia shook her head. Mary looks gutted.
As soon as the door closed, Eastlake turned to the inspector. “I suppose there’s little doubt.”
“He drank a glass of whiskey laced with powdered green paint.”
“Paint?”
“Arsenic is an ingredient in Paris Green,” Julia said.
“It’s a vivid emerald,” Tennant added, “so it’s unlikely he ingested the tinted liquid by mistake.”
Eastlake looked stricken. “It’s unfathomable, Inspector. Charles was the last man who would—”
“How well did you know the deceased? Were you friends as well?”
“More social acquaintances, I’d say. Our interests were rather different.” Eastlake smoothed his mustache, squaring his shoulders. “When it comes to art, I’m rather a Philistine, I’m afraid.” Julia thought he sounded proud, not apologetic.
“I’d like to speak to some of his friends and acquaintances,” Tennant said. “Rawlings mentioned he belonged to a club. Which one?”
“That vulgar new one. The Topkapi Club on East Pall Mall.”
“I’ve seen it. I had a drink at the Atheneum and noticed the club’s unusual facade.”
“Indeed?”
Julia heard his surprise and suppressed a smile when Eastlake registered Tennant’s regimental tie and well-cut suit. He’s wondering about a copper who drinks at the Atheneum and dresses like a toff.
Tennant said, “Reports suggest that Mister Allingham was worried of late. Did business concerns weigh on him?”
“Quite the reverse, I’d say.” Eastlake cleared his throat. “Mind you, I’d have given a different answer five years ago. But after Charles took Sidney Allen into partnership, the ship righted itself.”
The door opened, and Mary entered with Sergeant O’Malley. “I persuaded Louisa to rest,” she said.
Eastlake took her hand. “This must be hell for poor Louisa. Appalling. She’s not strong. Not like you, my dear. If there is anything I can do, you must tell me.”
“Of course,” Mary said. She withdrew her hand and returned to her seat by the fireplace.
O’Malley said, “Sir, we’ve searched for the key, but we haven’t got eyes on it. Miss Allingham doesn’t know its whereabouts. Perhaps Mister Eastlake?”
The lawyer looked blankly at O’Malley. “What key?”
“To the chest of drawers in Mister Allingham’s study,” Tennant said. “Any idea, sir?”
“None, I’m afraid.”
“Then Sergeant Armstrong will have to force it,” O’Malley said.
“I insist he calls for a locksmith,” the lawyer said. “There is no need to inflict unnecessary damage on top of everything else.”
“Very well.” Tennant nodded to O’Malley. “The sergeant will see to it.”
Eastlake cleared his throat. “Inspector, is there a reason Scotland Yard is involved?”
Took him long enough, Julia thought.
“Evidence of blackmail has come to light. In a case that ends in suicide, extortion could lead to a charge of manslaughter.”
“Blackmail? Absurd.” Eastlake threw out his chest. “I insist on being present when you open that locked drawer.”
Tennant looked at Mary. “Miss Allingham, is that your wish?”
She nodded.
Julia checked her watch and gathered her things. “Mary, I must leave. But you should follow Mrs. Allingham’s example and rest. I’ll stop back in a few days, shall I?”
“Yes. Please do.” She started to rise, so Julia touched her shoulder to stop her. She leaned over and kissed her cheek.
Tennant said, “I’ll see Doctor Lewis out.”
At the front door, he said, “Thank you for coming. By the time I arrived, Armstrong had assigned Allingham’s postmortem to Doctor Scott. But I thought the ladies could use your support.” He cleared his throat. “Tell me, did you look in on Louisa?”
“No. Doctor Scott treated Mrs. Allingham this morning. Mary said she was sleeping.”
“First, her father—Louisa was very dependent on him.” Tennant shook his head. “Now this.”
“You’re concerned for her, of course. I’m worried about Mary. She lost her only sibling. The supposed ‘strong ones’ are often overlooked.”
“Yes, I’m sure you’re right.” He looked up the staircase. “I must get back.”
He seemed hardly to have heard her. “Richard, don’t let Mary fall through the cracks.”
Julia watched him climb. Again, she thought about the power of the weak . . . and their attraction for the strong.