Chapter 7
‘Naturally, our focus must be on the theft of Lavinia Pettigrew’s necklace, since she has hired Shackleford and Daughters to assist the police in looking into the theft, and I couldn’t help feeling that there may have been another reason for Evelina Lovelace missing the soiree – especially with her husband leaving early. ’ Alex looked at Benedict expectantly.
‘And when I spoke to the maid, Sally, I felt she might well have been hiding something,’ Arabella added. ‘She seemed unusually scared.’
Benedict raised his eyebrows. ‘Perhaps this Sally was procured from Pembroke. If the agency is involved in robbing clients, it’s possible the maid either knows of it or is actually part of it.
’ He looked over at Arabella. ‘I think perhaps another visit to Belgrave Road would not go amiss. If you could endeavour to speak to Sally away from the house…’ He left his suggestion hanging.
‘An excellent suggestion… Benedict,’ Arabella smiled. ‘I believe I will act upon it once I have paid my respects to Mrs Thomas. Belgrave Road is but a stone’s throw from Braddon’s Hill Road. I will, of course, report my findings back to your good self.’
‘That would be most helpful,’ Ben responded. He inclined his head with a grin before turning towards Rhys.
‘As Lady Tavistock mentioned earlier, Shackleford and Daughters have been privately commissioned to look into the Pettigrew theft only, my lord, and that is naturally where you must place your attention. However, since we believe all four thefts are very likely connected, I assume you will need to cross-reference the guest lists of each to establish whether any guests were present at all four soirees.’
‘The Torquay Police were most helpful in providing full details of their investigation prior to the case being handed over to Exeter,’ Rhys declared carefully, ‘so, we’re in the fortunate position of being in possession of a copy of all four lists.
’ He took a sip of his wine before adding, ‘Hopefully, we’ll have some information for you by the end of tomorrow. ’
The arrival of the main course – a particularly tasty dish consisting of cod with oyster sauce - put an end to the guarded conversation and gradually the discussion turned to jollier subjects, though Benedict couldn’t help noticing that both Arabella and Alexandra spent an inordinate amount of time glaring at one or the other of their younger sisters…
Unfortunately, by the end of the meal, Arabella was in a much more dangerous place than the one she’d started the evening in.
Two hours in Benedict Hartley’s company proved him to be both well-read and interesting, with a slightly wicked, self-depreciating humour. All qualities that made him even more attractive – even without taking his physical appearance into account.
In short, Arabella found herself actually liking the man.
As the ladies left the two gentlemen to their Port, both Daisy and Florence were nudging each other and looking at her knowingly.
By the time they’d all seated themselves in the drawing room, Bella didn’t know whether to box their ears or send them home.
Anything to prevent what she was entirely certain would end in humiliation.
Thankfully, she’d reckoned without her twin. Alexandra, also recognising which way the wind was blowing, wasted no time threatening their four younger sisters with dire consequences should they say anything at all that might cause discomfiture to certain persons or people.
When Bernice asked her to describe exactly what subject would be considered discomforting, Alex had responded by smiling sweetly and saying, ‘anything that necessitates opening your mouth.’
By the time Rhys and Benedict joined them twenty minutes later, a rather spectacular sunset had Alex suggesting they undertake a short stroll before coffee.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Arabella took her time fetching her shawl, purposely allowing her sisters to get a good head start.
When she finally stepped through the French doors onto the terrace, they were at least fifty yards down the meandering garden path.
It truly was a beautiful evening. The air was redolent with a unique combination of blossom and wood-smoke.
‘Spring is my favourite season…’ Arabella almost jumped out of her skin at the masculine voice coming seemingly out of nowhere, half a second before Benedict Hartley materialised from underneath the canopy of a weeping crab apple tree next to the path.
Such was her surprise at his abrupt appearance that she completely missed her footing.
She spent the following seconds desperately trying to prevent her feet from going in opposite directions, arms pinwheeling in a most unladylike fashion as she stumbled towards him.
She just had time to register his look of alarm before gravity became too great to resist and she began to fall forward.
Three things ensured that the following moments were not a complete disaster.
First - she didn’t end up with something broken.
Second - her sisters were too far away to witness her tying her garter in public.
And third – the chief inspector managed to snatch her from the jaws of complete and utter mortification by jumping forward and taking the full weight of her upper body into his arms.
But in truth, there was a fourth… As Benedict Hartley wrapped her in his embrace, she felt almost as though she was half foxed.
The combination of sandalwood and lemon, the incredible warmth of his skin, and most intoxicatingly, the hardness of his arms and chest, made her want to do things she’d only ever imagined in the darkness of her bedchamber.
Truly, she was in dire trouble…
Henry pushed forward, looking over his sister's shoulder.
'Dear God,' he breathed, lowering the handkerchief.
It was a woman, middle-aged, dressed in a serviceable grey dress that looked as though it had seen better days.
‘Could this be anything to do with Muriel Pemberton?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Could be. We don’t know how long she’s been in the Bay,’ thankfully the pain in Henry’s nose was easing slightly as long as he didn’t touch it, and he was almost beginning to sound like his old self.
He gave a sigh. ‘She could well have visited this address before Billy found the note in her pocket. Help me with the door.’
Careful not to disturb the body more than necessary, they eased the door open. Once in the room, it was quickly evident that the woman hadn’t met her end from natural causes. Indeed, her throat was slit from ear to ear in exactly the same way as Lionel and Violet Pemberton.
Charlotte’s eyes widened in horror as she observed the poor woman’s grisly end. ‘We need to contact the police,’ she murmured.
Henry frowned. ‘I never imagined I’d actually hear myself saying this, but I believe we need to do a thorough search of the property before involving the police.
’ He cast a sheepish glance towards his sister, who was regarding him in astonishment.
‘At this point in time, we can’t be sure this has anything to do with the jewellery thefts – but we do know it’s somehow connected to the Pembertons.
If we let the police in now, they will force us out of the building, and we’ll find out nothing. ’
‘How long do you think she’s been here?’
With a swallowed grunt at his protesting joints, Henry bent forward. ‘Looking at the body, I don’t believe she’s been dead as long as the smell suggests. The weather has been unseasonably warm of late, and this room has a southerly aspect. I suspect she’s been dead no more than two days.’
‘Do you think whoever did this will come back?’ Something in her tone made Henry look back. His normally sharp-tongued sibling was pale-faced and subdued, leading him to the sudden realisation that she’d never been faced with an actual dead body before.
‘I can’t imagine the murderer’s likely to come back to the scene of the crime now,’ he responded carefully, straightening back up.
‘But there’s no sense in us disturbing the crime scene in this room any more than we already have.
’ He took hold of Charlotte’s arm, gently pulling her away from their gruesome discovery.
The fact that she went without complaint proved just how shaken up she was.
‘Ave yer found anythin’?’ Albert’s shout startled them both. In all honesty, they’d forgotten he was there.
Quickly shutting the door on the awful smell, Henry hurried back to where Albert had made himself comfortable on the stool.
The coachman was patiently picking at his teeth with the same fruit knife that had recently lodged itself in his sibling’s corset.
Charlotte gave an almost imperceptible shudder, but for once said nothing.
‘I’d like you to take the carriage to Simla House,’ Henry told him.
‘Inform Lord Tavistock that he is needed urgently. If Chief Inspector Hartley has not taken his leave by the time you get there, please also ask if he would be so good as to lend his expertise. You are to bring them both back to this address.’
‘Wot, an’ leave you both ‘ere while I’m gone?’ Albert was aghast.
‘We’ll be perfectly fine,’ Henry returned, thinking it prudent not to mention the dead body two doors down – he’d never convince Albert to leave them if the coachman knew.
‘Wot wos that ‘orrible stink then?’
Before Henry could come up with a convincing explanation, Charlotte jumped in. ‘A fox unfortunately got trapped inside the room,’ she interjected sadly. ‘There’s little left of the poor thing other than skin and bone.’
Albert frowned and shook his head. ‘Must o’ bin a bloody big fox.’
‘I would simply like his lordship to help us search the house,’ Henry added with an encouraging smile. There was a pause, then the coach driver finally nodded his head.
‘Well, in that case, I’d best be off if I’m to get back afore the day’s done. I’ll leave the lanterns else it’ll be like the Earl of ‘ell’s waistcoat in ‘ere. Max and Ned don’t need lights – they’d find their way ‘ome blindfolded.’
Henry grimaced – he’d never even thought about the lack of lamps once it got full dark. How quickly he’d forgotten his basic policing.
Five minutes later, they were alone.
‘I thought we weren’t bringing in the police until we’d finished.’ Charlotte muttered drily.
‘We’ll have at least two hours before Rhys and Hartley get here – that’s if the Chief Inspector’s even at Simla. After his willingness to work with us, I believe his assistance will actually be valuable.’
‘And you’d rather not explain our presence to complete strangers,’ Charlotte guessed.
An indignant hmph was Henry’s only response. He touched his nose gingerly and was rewarded with a dull throb. Heaven knew what his offspring would say when they finally saw him. Although there was no mirror, his blurred vision suggested his eyes were blackening nicely…
They searched the rest of the upper floor systematically. Two more bedrooms, both empty. A water closet. Nothing of interest until they reached the room at the front of the house, which had clearly served as an office.
There was a desk in the middle of the room, together with a chair on either side. Filing cabinets lined one wall, their drawers half open, papers scattered across the floor. Someone had searched this room in a hurry.
Charlotte began gathering papers while Henry examined the filing cabinets, squinting through his rapidly swelling eyes.
He patted his coat pockets belatedly, wondering if his spectacles had survived the impact with the wall.
Seconds later, he triumphantly held them up, only to discover that one of the lenses was cracked.
No matter, at least the words and numbers didn’t look like squiggles on the page.
Gingerly, he slid the glasses over his swollen nose.
‘I think these are servant placement records,' Charlotte said, holding up a bundle of papers. 'The writing’s a little cramped, but there looks to be dates and names – likely the families who hired them.’
‘The drawers are empty,’ Henry confirmed, bending down to help his sibling pick up the papers littering the floor.
Looking at the top sheet, he leaned closer.
‘This looks to be a payment record. Good Lord, it dates back fifteen years.’ He looked over at Charlotte.
‘The agency’s placed a lot of servants over a long period of time. ’
He flipped to the page below, silent for the moment, then his expression darkened. ‘How many of these names are orphans? Look at the notation here: Cora - orphan, unknown age.’
Charlotte peered over his shoulder. ‘Unknown age. That tells me she was a child. And look… going all the way down the page.’
They stared at the list of names, nearly all of whom were orphans of unknown age.
'Is this the same as Winner Street?' Charlotte finally whispered. ‘Are they selling children?’