Chapter 15
CHAPTER 15
W hen they stepped from the pub into the street, Tilda immediately wished they’d left through a back door. The number of reporters had increased, and several flocked toward Hadrian. Kirkham was also loitering about with a few gentlemen, and their attention focused on Hadrian.
Tilda clasped Hadrian’s arm. “I know it’s a short trip to Beryl’s house, but perhaps we should take your coach.”
“Lord Ravenhurst!” one of the reporters called. “Are you a suspect in the murder of Louis Chambers?”
“Were you having an affair with Chambers’ wife?” another asked.
Hadrian tensed, and a muscle in his neck worked. “I don’t want to leave Beryl to these jackals either. But I must tell Leach we’re going to her house.”
“He’s going to move the coach. You may as well get in it,” Tilda advised. “You go. I’ll move Beryl and everyone else along.” She didn’t want to suggest Beryl go with him in the coach. That would only feed the rumors.
His eyes sparking with anger, Hadrian muttered something before hurrying to the coach. Tilda glared at the encroaching reporters and hastened to where Beryl and the others were already fending off several other reporters.
Tilda moved to Beryl’s side. “You don’t need to speak with them. Just walk quickly toward your house.”
“What if they follow us?” Beryl asked, her features stricken.
“They wouldn’t dare!” Mrs. Styles-Rowdon declared in horror.
Tilda was afraid they would. “Go. Quickly.”
Mrs. Styles-Rowdon took Beryl’s arm and steered her away. The retainers were already moving in the direction of Beryl’s house.
Turning, Tilda took a deep breath and faced the press. “I will answer a question or two.”
One of the reporters, a man who was perhaps a few years older than Tilda and garbed in a rather loud pair of orange plaid pants, squinted at her. “Who are you?”
“Miss Matilda Wren. I am investigating the matter of Louis Chambers’ death.”
The man swept his gaze over her and began to laugh. Thoroughly annoyed, Tilda glowered at him.
Someone else asked, “Why are you investigating?”
“I was hired to do so, and no, I will not reveal by whom,” she said crisply.
“Who killed Chambers?” the reporter who’d laughed at her asked.
“The investigation by Scotland Yard is ongoing.”
The journalist’s expression soured. “You said you would answer questions, not evade them.”
In truth, Tilda had only wanted to distract them from Hadrian and the others. Now that they were gone, she could also be on her way. She looked toward the door to the pub where Teague had just exited. “I’m sure Detective Inspector Teague will eagerly answer your questions.”
She stressed Teague and his title, as she was certain the reporter would be far more impressed with him. Judging by the speed with which the man in the obnoxious pants left to speak with Teague, she was not wrong.
Muttering the same curse Hadrian had a few moments earlier, Tilda pivoted and walked to Beryl’s house. She moved quickly and noted that Hadrian was waiting for her at the door.
“Why did you linger?” he asked.
“I wanted to keep the reporters from following Beryl and her staff. I thought I would answer a few questions; however, it seems my role as an investigator is a matter of humor. So I directed them to Teague.”
“Good.” Hadrian frowned slightly. “Though I am sorry they did not take you seriously.”
Tilda lifted a shoulder. “I should not have expected otherwise.”
Hadrian held the door for her as she stepped into the entrance hall. The staff was still assembled, though Mrs. Styles-Rowdon was not present.
Mrs. Dunning, the cook, looked toward Tilda. She appeared to be a mixture of vexed and distraught, her features creased, and her dark brows drawn together. “I am most upset to think someone came to my pantry, pilfered the household arsenic, and used it to poison Mr. Chambers.” During the inquest, Mrs. Dunning had testified that the amount of arsenic remaining in the bottle seemed to have decreased since she’d last used it, but that she couldn’t be certain.
“It’s ghastly,” Mrs. Blank said with a fierce expression. She flicked a glance at Beryl, who was busy handing her hat, veil, and gloves to Clara.
“Someone in the household must have been poisoning Mr. Chambers,” Oswald said. He also glanced toward Beryl.
Did they all think she was guilty?
Massey was nowhere to be seen, but then he’d walked ahead of everyone when they’d left the pub. He was likely already upstairs gathering his things as Hadrian had suggested.
“I understand constables searched the house on Saturday after the inquest was canceled.” Tilda wanted to know if they’d been aware of the arsenic poisoning before today, but it seemed they were not. “Did they not explain why?”
Mrs. Blank shook her head. “They only said they needed to do another search.”
Mrs. Dunning frowned. “I did not realize they’d taken the arsenic from the pantry. But it’s not something I use daily. Or even weekly sometimes.”
“Does anyone have a notion as to how Mr. Chambers would have ingested the arsenic?” Tilda asked. “It doesn’t smell or taste like anything, unfortunately, so it’s possible you have had some too. Have any of you been ill?”
Clara glanced at Beryl whilst Beryl’s features tensed.
“Clara, were you or Mrs. Chambers ill? Or Martha perhaps?” Hadrian asked.
“Mrs. Chambers was ill in January for a time. But she has been well for weeks.”
Tilda looked to Beryl. “And were your symptoms similar to what was described at the inquest today?”
“Yes,” Beryl whispered.
If Beryl had been poisoned, it would seem she was not then guilty of poisoning her husband. That wouldn’t make sense.
Tilda looked at the retainers. “Was anyone else ill?”
They shook their heads.
“Can we be sure Mrs. Chambers was poisoned?” Mrs. Dunning wrung her hands. “Why would that have stopped?”
“Perhaps it was an accident,” Hadrian suggested. “Is there any way arsenic could have found its way into something?”
“Absolutely not,” Mrs. Blank responded as Mrs. Dunning turned pale. “Mrs. Dunning would never make such a mistake. Nor would she purchase tainted flour.”
“Perhaps the food came from someplace else then,” Tilda said gently. “Is that possible, Mrs. Dunning?”
Mrs. Dunning seemed to think a moment. “When they had their dinner parties, Mr. Chambers often brought in a few items, usually an extravagant cake or tart from somewhere. But everyone would have been ill.” She frowned. “Though Mr. Chambers made sure only he was served any leftover cake or tart.”
Tilda doubted the dessert had been poisoned because the cook was right—everyone who’d eaten it would have been ill. Except they would only have felt poorly for a brief period. If Chambers was ingesting all that remained, it was possible that he would have been sick longer. Still, it didn’t support consistent illness, which seemed to have been the case.
Tilda continued her inquiry. “When was the last dinner party?”
“A fortnight before Mr. Chambers died,” Mrs. Blank replied.
“That was just a few days after Martha left,” Clara added. “I remember because it was the first time we had to prepare without her help.”
Tilda wanted to know if these party desserts could be the culprit. “And the party before that?”
“They occurred monthly,” Oswald said. “Though there were two in January. One on Epiphany and one a fortnight or so later.”
These parties would easily have put a strain on Chambers’ already faltering finances. Why would he continue to have them? Because he was completely reckless and apparently expected his older brother to bail him out.
Hadrian turned to her. “Is it possible the food from these parties contained arsenic?”
“It’s possible, but I would find it surprising.” Tilda looked to Mrs. Blank. “I would like you to write down the dates of the parties since Epiphany along with what items came from outside the house and from where. Please also indicate how much remained after the party and if you know how long it took Mr. Chambers to eat what was left.”
The housekeeper nodded. “I’ll do that straightaway.”
Beryl addressed Mrs. Dunning. “I think we all require tea. I’ll have mine in the parlor with his lordship and Miss Wren.” She turned and walked into the parlor, and the retainers dispersed.
Tilda and Hadrian followed Beryl into the parlor where Beryl had already taken a seat on the settee.
“Beryl, if you would pardon us for a short while, I’d like to search Louis’s bedchamber and study again.” Tilda summoned her brightest smile and hoped Beryl wouldn’t ask to join them. Having Hadrian try to see something with Beryl there could be troublesome.
“‘Us’?” Beryl asked with a frown. She looked to Hadrian. “You’re leaving me too?”
“Not for long,” he said soothingly. “You do want us to find the truth?”
“I do, but I’m confused. And worried. You heard what Oswald said. Someone in the household was poisoning Louis. I don’t think it was the cake from our parties. They come from a very nice and expensive bakery—Hosford’s on Piccadilly. Louis had an account there.” Beryl looked toward the doorway to the staircase hall through which everyone else had departed. “At this point, I suspect Clara,” she whispered.
“Has something happened to make you think that?” Tilda asked.
Beryl shrugged. “She seems the likeliest person because of what Louis did to her when she first started working here. I confess I am uncomfortable with her now that I know of her behavior with him.”
Tilda did not respond as she would have wished, which would be to tell Beryl that Clara’s behavior was not her fault. She’d been young and taken advantage of by her employer. If anything, Beryl ought to have despised her husband even more.
“We’ll be back soon,” Tilda said before leaving the parlor and going to the study. She heard Hadrian following her.
When they reached the study, she turned to face Hadrian. “I don’t anticipate finding anything since the constables have already searched and it was their second time doing so. Mostly, I just wanted you to touch things and see if you could determine where the poison came from.” She grimaced. “I realize this is nearly as difficult as trying to find Beryl’s missing jewelry.”
“Except we already found one piece and know what happened to three others,” Hadrian said with the optimism Tilda needed.
She smiled at him. “You’re right. But don’t touch anything until I motion for you to do so. I don’t want you to become overwhelmed by a terrible headache from multiple visions again.”
“I’ll be careful. And I’ll await your direction.”
Hearing a noise in the bedchamber, they both turned in that direction. Hadrian moved toward the doorway just as Massey appeared. He carried a bag.
“Thank you for coming,” Tilda said.
The valet must have come through the dressing room. “What is it you wish to speak with me about?”
Tilda reviewed what they’d learned from the other retainers. “Aside from the cakes and tarts from the dinner parties, can you think of anything Mr. Chambers ate or drank that did not come from the household?”
“No, though I must tell you that he often allowed me a small serving of those cakes, and I have not been ill. Why would someone risk poisoning the entire household?”
“I want to make sure Mr. Chambers wasn’t ingesting something that was inadvertently poisoned,” Tilda replied. “Some flours contain arsenic. It’s to make them heavier so the seller can charge more. It’s possible Mr. Chambers wasn’t being poisoned on purpose. However, since you often ate those desserts, I think we can assume they were not poisoned.”
“Could the poison have been in his liquor?” Massey asked. “He drank plenty of it.”
“It could have been, but he likely would have noticed,” Tilda said. “Arsenic dissolves in hot liquids, so it is usually found in tea or other hot dish or baked into food. If it had been in his liquor, he may have noticed its presence, at least the texture.”
Massey nodded vaguely. “I can’t think of anything he ate or drank that wasn’t prepared here. I don’t think Mrs. Dunning cared for him. Nor did Mrs. Blank or Oswald.”
Hadrian arched a brow. “The list of people who liked him is rather short, I think.”
“Is there anything else?” Massey asked.
“Not at the moment.” Tilda eyed his bag. “All packed and ready to leave?”
“Hopefully never to return.” The valet looked to Hadrian. “Have you spoken to Mrs. Chambers yet?”
“I have not, but I will,” Hadrian said with a firm nod. “She is in the parlor.”
Massey wrinkled his nose. “Then I shall leave through the downstairs. I suppose I should say goodbye to the others.”
“Thank you,” Tilda said. “I appreciate you coming. Will we be able to find you at the brothel?”
“For now. I must find a new position posthaste.”
“I’ll deliver a letter of recommendation to your address tomorrow,” Hadrian said.
The valet blinked and offered a stiff bow. “Thank you, my lord.” He grabbed his bag and departed with alacrity.
“He could not leave fast enough,” Tilda noted. “We must consider that he may have been poisoning his employer, regardless of his insistence that he did not. I should think it would have been easy for him to add arsenic to tea.” She turned to survey the study. “Let us search here first, then the dressing room. I am satisfied I searched the bedchamber thoroughly the other day.”
They looked through every inch of the study and found nothing out of the ordinary. And there was no food or anything related to food—just a cabinet with several kinds of liquor.
“You didn’t ask me to touch anything,” Hadrian said.
“There’s nothing odd or suspicious. I wonder if you should go downstairs to the pantry and see if you can detect whether someone other than Mrs. Dunning or Mrs. Blank accessed it.” Tilda blew out a breath. “Though without the arsenic itself, that may be pointless. I wish you could touch that .”
They searched the dressing room next and again found nothing that provoked Tilda’s curiosity or prompted her to ask Hadrian to touch anything. Frustrated, she told Hadrian they could return to the parlor.
As they walked from the study into the sitting room, they encountered Clara. She seemed to have been waiting and now flushed before looking away from them.
“Did you need something, Clara?” Tilda asked.
Clara hesitated. She worried her hands and chewed her lip. “I’m afraid,” Clara whispered. “Someone poisoned Mr. Chambers. And stabbed him. I don’t feel safe here.”
Tilda felt sorry for the young woman. “Have you anywhere you can stay?”
“No.” She took a stuttering breath. “I will manage. I didn’t mean to bother you.” She began to turn.
“Is there anything you aren’t telling us, Clara?” Tilda asked.
“It’s just … Mrs. Chambers has been acting strangely. She hasn’t wanted me to help her very much since …” The maid’s voice trailed off.
“Since her husband died?” Hadrian supplied.
Clara nodded. “She may just be upset with me because of what happened … before.” She looked down at the floor.
“That could very well be,” Tilda said kindly. “Try not to worry overmuch. It’s a difficult time.”
“That’s what Mrs. Blank told me. She said I should feel fortunate to have a bit of a respite. It’s true that we’ve all been working harder since Martha left.” Clara brushed her hand over her nose and sniffed. “I’m sad about Martha too. Being here is difficult.”
Tilda put her hand on Clara’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. Mrs. Blank is right. Take solace in this respite.”
“Thank you, Miss Wren. You’ve been so kind.” Clara smiled.
Removing her hand from Clara, Tilda asked, “Since you are here, can you tell me how long Mrs. Chambers has had the veil she wore today?”
“Mrs. Styles-Rowdon gave it to her when she brought the mourning clothes. She said she wore it after her husband died a few years ago.”
“Thank you,” Tilda said warmly.
Clara turned and went through the doorway to the servants’ staircase.
Tilda pivoted to face Hadrian. “Why do you suppose Beryl is giving Clara a ‘respite’?”
“It could be as Clara said. Or that Beryl is upset and needs time to herself.”
“Or it could be that she’s feeling guilty and doesn’t want to be around the maid.” Tilda frowned. “I don’t know.”
“Why did you ask about the veil?” Hadrian asked. “I confess seeing Beryl wear that earlier made me think of the woman who was seen visiting Martha.”
“Precisely,” Tilda said, glad that he’d also noticed that. “Clara says Mrs. Styles-Rowdon brought the veil on Friday. That was before the woman was seen with Martha later that night.”
“But wasn’t the veiled woman seen another time?” Hadrian asked.
Tilda frowned. “Still, it could have been Beryl. She may have already had a veil when Mrs. Styles-Rowdon offered hers and didn’t want to say so.”
Hadrian nodded vaguely. “Because she wouldn’t want anyone to know if she’d been wearing it in Spitalfields to see Martha.” He met Tilda’s gaze. “Why would Beryl call on Martha? And why would she have pushed her to her death? Perhaps she’d discovered Martha’s affair with her husband.”
Tilda didn’t think that was the reason. “Beryl would have been glad to have proof of her husband’s infidelity, as it would have helped her pursuit of a divorce. I would say it makes more sense that Beryl was worried that Martha was aware of her poisoning Louis, so she called on her to find out. However, if Beryl was also being poisoned, it’s unlikely she is the poisoner.” Tilda paused and thought a moment. “I suppose it’s possible that Beryl wasn’t poisoned with arsenic—we can’t know since her illness has resolved.”
Hadrian grimaced faintly. “I confess I have an easier time believing Beryl might poison Louis as opposed to stabbing him.”
“We should probably return to the parlor,” Tilda said.
Upon arriving at the parlor, they had to stop short upon seeing that Beryl was not alone. She sat on the settee very close to her brother-in-law, Oliver Chambers, their heads bent together.
Oliver looked up and saw Tilda and Hadrian. He gently elbowed Beryl who also moved her gaze to the doorway.
Beryl straightened, angling her body toward Tilda and Hadrian. In doing so, she moved away from Oliver. Still, Tilda noted their closeness. Perhaps it was just that Oliver was comforting his brother’s widow. Or there was a chance it was something else.
“Oliver came to see how I was faring after the inquest,” Beryl said.
Hadrian inclined his head toward Oliver. “That’s kind of you.”
Tilda stepped into the parlor, and Hadrian followed her.
“We’ve decided to hold the funeral on Wednesday,” Beryl said as Tilda and Hadrian sat opposite the settee in a pair of chairs. “Oliver has been kind enough to handle the cards.”
“Detective Inspector Teague says the body will be delivered later today.” Oliver’s face was grim.
Tilda didn’t really want to bother him amidst his grief, but she also didn’t want to miss the opportunity to speak with him. “Mr. Chambers, would you mind if I asked you a few questions about Mr. Pollard and the shop?”
Oliver’s dark eyes flickered with something—unease perhaps. “I suppose.”
“I appreciate that,” Tilda said with a supportive smile. “I imagine this is a difficult time. My primary goal is to find the person responsible for your brother’s death.”
“I understand. What do you want to know about Pollard?”
“Did you approach him about investing in the shop, or was it his idea?”
“It was my idea,” Oliver replied. “When I decided the religious life didn’t suit, I needed to find another occupation. I hadn’t considered enterprise, but when my brother was struggling with making his payments, I offered to help. He wanted a loan, but I asked to become an investor.”
Hadrian glanced at Tilda before asking, “You knew he wasn’t making his payments to Pollard?”
“Daniel told me,” Oliver said with a nod. “Daniel has always had to provide financial support to Louis over the years since our father died. Daniel told me that things became particularly dire a few months ago. He’d asked Daniel to help with the payments to Pollard. Daniel refused. He’d advised Louis not to invest in the shop in the first place.”
“Why is that?” Tilda asked.
Oliver frowned. “Louis was never very good with money, and Daniel didn’t think he’d be able to manage an investment like that. He was right, of course. Daniel offered to take over his finances and give him an allowance, but Louis refused.”
“Presumably, Louis had some income,” Hadrian said. “Otherwise, there would be no money at all to sustain the household or agree to an investment in the first place.”
“Louis and I both have a quarterly income from investments our father had made. Louis typically spent beyond that income, however.”
“Did he have debts?” Hadrian asked.
“Yes, but Daniel knows more about that.”
Beryl paled. “I didn’t realize there were debts.” She looked down at her lap. “I have debts too. At the milliner and druggist.”
Oliver gave her a soothing pat on the hand. “I’m sure those are not substantial.”
Tilda again noted their familiarity and wondered if Oliver might be Beryl’s lover. “But your brother’s debts were substantial?”
“I don’t know the specifics. I would say you should ask Daniel, though I would not do so until after the funeral at least.” Oliver grimaced faintly. “Louis’s death has impacted him greatly. In some ways, I think he feels responsible, that he should have done more to protect Louis.”
“From what?” Now that Tilda knew that Louis had debts, she wondered if Louis had owed money to unsavory lenders.
Oliver shrugged. “Probably from himself. If there was a bad decision to be made, Louis chose it.” He glanced toward Beryl. “Except for marrying you.”
“I don’t think that ended up being a very good decision for either of us,” she said quietly, her gaze still on her lap.
An uncomfortable silence reigned for a moment. Tilda looked to Hadrian and inclined her head toward the door to indicate they should go. He nodded, and they rose.
“I saw a man with you and your brother at the inquest,” Hadrian said. “Padgett is his name.”
“My brother hired him to investigate Louis’s death.” Oliver flicked a glance at Tilda.
Beryl looked at Hadrian. “He came here yesterday to speak with me. I was telling Oliver about it before you came in.”
“Did Padgett indicate anything he was investigating in particular?” Tilda asked.
Beryl shook her head. “I had the sense he thought I likely killed Louis.” She shivered. “I didn’t care for Padgett.”
“I’m sorry he troubled you,” Hadrian said. “We’ll take our leave now.”
Beryl gave him an expectant look. “You’ll come to the funeral?”
Hadrian smiled. “Of course.”
“And you’re still searching for my missing jewelry?” Beryl asked Tilda.
Tilda felt Hadrian looking at her. She didn’t want to tell Beryl about the rubies that Louis had given to his mistress—not yet anyway. Hopefully, Tilda would identify the woman and recover the jewels. Then she would tell Beryl what had happened, rather than add to her turmoil right now.
“I am,” Tilda replied. “I will let you know if I am able to make any progress.” She looked at Hadrian and again inclined her head slightly toward the door.
They said goodbye to Beryl and Oliver and took their leave. Outside, Tilda explained to Hadrian why she hadn’t told Beryl about the rubies.
“That is probably the kindest thing at the moment,” he said. “She doesn’t need to be angry about her husband giving her jewelry to his mistress in addition to everything else.”
“Agreed.” Tilda thanked Leach as he helped her into the coach.
When Hadrian settled in beside her, she added, “I also didn’t want to point out that she couldn’t afford to pay me, yet I would do my best to find her jewelry anyway.”
“I’m glad you’re letting me pay you for your time.”
“It isn’t much,” she said as the coach began moving. “You’ll be paying me far more for the investigation into the murder, especially now that arsenic has been found.”
He grinned at her. “And you’re worth every shilling.” He paused, his features sobering, before going on. “Did you have the feeling there may be a closer bond between Beryl and Oliver than just in-laws comforting one another?”
“I’m glad I wasn’t alone in thinking that. I should like to know more about Louis’s debts.”
“Such as whether he may have owed someone who would have killed him over not being repaid?” he asked.
“Precisely. Though if that’s the case, that means someone was poisoning Louis and someone else—a criminal—stabbed him.” Tilda looked at Hadrian. “It’s just such a coincidence that he was being poisoned and was then stabbed.”
“Is it, when so many people had a motive to kill him?”
Tilda supposed not. “I should like to call on Pollard tomorrow. I would have also liked to speak with Daniel Chambers, but it seems we must wait until after the funeral.”
“I will pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven, if that is acceptable,” Hadrian offered.
“Indeed. Thank you.”
“Damn, I forgot to speak with Beryl about Massey’s employment,” Hadrian said, crossing his arms over his chest with a deep frown.
“After listening to Oliver, there may not be money to pay him,” Tilda said.
“That is a concern.” Hadrian blew out a breath and uncrossed his arms. “Chambers was a right bastard.”
“Don’t let anyone else hear you say that,” Tilda warned.
He turned his head to look at her, his features softening. His eyes were a dark blue in the dim light of the coach, and they glittered with a surprising intensity. “Thank you for your support today, particularly with the reporters.”
“You don’t deserve any of this trouble.”
“I appreciate you saying that. This will pass. I just hope that happens soon.”
“We’re going to solve this case,” Tilda vowed. She prayed it would be soon too.