Chapter 11
In the event, Henry Shackleford eschewed the laudanum that Billy had purchased in favour of a sharp mind – especially after the boy repeated his mother’s words.
Naturally, Billy had left out her more colourful language, being confident that her offer to open the trapdoor under the noose was perfectly sufficient to get her point across.
And it was clearly set to be a day of breakthroughs.
Not half an hour after Billy had divulged the name of the man Muriel Pemberton had been having tea with, it was confirmed that Margaret Finch had sent her letter of entreaty to the very same man.
And just before lunch, Arabella returned with the news that the names of at least two of the missing women were known to both Lavinia Pettigrew and Dorothy Thomas.
Last but not least, Alexandra and Rhys were able to confirm that John Thorpe had attended three of the four soirees.
However, of all the developments, the most interesting one – in the eyes of her siblings at least – was the note received by Arabella from Benedict Hartley asking if she would join him at Simla House at eight p.m. that evening.
Despite her protests that the Chief Inspector was merely being discreet on the off chance that Sir Drayton should intercept the missive, the opportunity to rib their sister was entirely too good to miss…
On this occasion, the visit to Lord and Lady Tavistock’s home was a true family affair, with both Billy and Aggie coming along too.
Billy was especially excited since he’d previously only ever visited the kitchen.
The possibility that he might get the chance to have a proper nose was almost too thrilling to bear – even if it meant being on his best behaviour.
Aggie, on the other hand, had been to Simla many times, and her nose had absolutely no interest beyond Mrs Brown’s bread and butter pudding.
Walking down towards the Royal Hotel Yard for the purpose of hiring a carriage to take him to Simla House, Benedict Hartley thought back over the unexpected events of the previous two days.
After the discovery of Margaret Finch’s body, he’d walked to the Torquay police station to inform the local police of the discovery, before returning to the house and remaining with the body until the coroner arrived.
Although it went against everything he believed in, Ben kept the details of the wider case described by Henry Shackleford to himself.
Instead, he introduced the possibility that a former domestic placed by the agency may have held a grudge against the woman. Not a complete lie.
The coroner, a taciturn man of middle years who’d been dragged out of an evening of entertainment, was more than happy to accept the Chief Inspector’s suggestions.
He hadn’t even asked how Ben had come to be in the house.
Gritting his teeth, Ben had only narrowly resisted the urge to haul the man over the coals for not doing his job properly.
But throughout the entire process, he’d held on to the hope that they would manage to solve enough of the bigger mystery to prevent some unfortunate servant being wrongly charged with the dead woman’s murder. Under no circumstances would he allow someone to hang for a crime they didn’t commit.
By the time the body had been taken away and the scene thoroughly documented, it had been nearing dawn. Mindful of the fact that he was interviewing Mrs Dorothy Thomas in a few hours, he’d booked into a small bed-and-breakfast in one of Torquay’s myriad of back streets.
But, lying in the lumpy bed, listening to the first of the seagulls fighting over scraps of waste, Ben’s mind had refused to rest. He could never have imagined that what had started as an investigation into a series of simple robberies would lead him into such a shadowy world of evil.
He didn’t doubt Henry Shackleford’s account – the man didn’t have a dishonourable bone in his body – what he did doubt was whether he, Benedict Hartley, was up the task of exposing what was clearly a large, well-established organisation and bringing the bastards behind it to justice.
Staring at the ceiling in the pre-dawn darkness, Ben had been abruptly swamped with fear.
This could well turn out to be the biggest case of his career, likely to make or break him.
If it was the latter, putting aside the horror of not being able to save innocent lives, he would be forced back into the arms of his brother who’d had Benedict’s entire life mapped out the moment he became a Viscount.
Marriage, connections, career – all ‘til death us do part.
Ben’s insistence on remaining in the police force had certainly put a spoke in the wheel of Arthur’s political aspirations for the Hartley family. But his brother was like a spider, content to wait for the right moment to ambush – or in this case, control…
Taking a deep breath, Benedict attempted to drag his mind back.
Thinking of his brother was hardly sleep-inducing at the best of times.
Then, unexpectedly, the image of Arabella Shackleford had flashed into his head, and to his surprise, the fast-approaching train wreck his thoughts were speeding towards had slowed right down.
He thought about the strange shock they’d both felt on touching.
An avid follower of the latest scientific advancements, Ben was perfectly aware that the jolt had actually come from a build-up of static electricity, nevertheless, he recalled the moment with a clarity that was astonishing.
Everything about her at that moment was etched into his brain as though it had just happened.
The widening of her eyes, the flush to her cheeks, the way she licked her lips, and the wispy tendrils of dark hair curling around her face.
In contrast, he doubted he’d even be able to pick out his former fiancée’s face in a line-up.
Unexpectedly, he’d found himself chuckling. A woman he’d met mere days ago and spent no more than a few hours with had made more of an impression than one he’d spent a whole year courting.
His thoughts inevitably drifted to the moment she’d stumbled into his arms in the garden.
To his consternation, the image had immediately had him hardening as he found himself remembering the feel of the curves hidden in the folds of her gown, her enigmatic grey eyes that had locked onto his for a mere instant before sliding away as her cheeks coloured.
And he could still smell the perfume she wore…
And then this morning, the sight of her as she stepped down from the carriage had both lifted his heart and set it beating as though he was in the throes of his first love.
His impulsive decision to send this evening’s invitation to Arabella alone had not only been driven by a need to pull the wool over the Chief Commissioner’s eyes…
Sighing, not a little confused by this unexpected complication, he gave his destination to a waiting cabbie and climbed into the hansom cab.
As they moved off, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to the actual events of the morning and Arabella’s sudden question about a girl named Eliza.
He too had noticed Dorothy Thomas’s instant reaction.
That, and his companion’s refusal to meet his eyes, brought him to the inevitable conclusion that there must have been developments in the Shackleford investigation he was not yet aware of.
Settling down in the carriage, Ben folded his arms and closed his eyes.
It could take as long as an hour to reach Simla House at this time of day, and after having only a pair of hours’ sleep, his best recourse would be to try and rest while he had the opportunity.
He had no doubt it was going to be a long night.
On this occasion, instead of dinner, Mrs Brown prepared a cold collation in the drawing room.
Arabella tried to ignore the butterflies that appeared to have permanently settled in her stomach at the thought of seeing Benedict Hartley again.
This infatuation - and in truth it could be called nothing less - wasn’t at all helpful.
All her attention needed to be focused on the missing children.
Preoccupation with matters of the heart was the kind of thing the old Arabella would have obsessed about, and she was determined not to be that person anymore.
She looked round at her family assembled in the drawing room.
Alexandra, her twin and still the person she was closest to in the world, though her sister might no longer say the same thing.
She felt a slight pang as her gaze travelled to Rhys, sitting quietly with Alex’s hand in his, saying almost nothing.
At first, Bella had believed his reticence was an indifference to the company he was in, but she’d come to understand it was the opposite.
Lord Tavistock was the kind of man whose concern for the people he cared about expressed itself through careful attention rather than words.
She looked at her sister’s face. The easy certainty of it, the way she unconsciously leaned towards her husband the merest fraction when she spoke.
Like a compass needle, Bella thought, absolutely confident of north.
Biting her lip, she looked down at her hands, telling herself with great firmness that in light of her determination to focus only on the case, it really was not a productive line of thought…
The sudden ringing of the doorbell heralded the arrival of the object of her thoughts.
Taking a deep breath, Bella smoothed down her dress…
and caught the eye of her aunt, who was regarding her quizzically.
Land sakes, she should have known Charlotte’s eagle eyes wouldn’t miss anything.
With a self-conscious cough, she turned towards the door.
Seconds later, Mrs Dobbin was showing Benedict into the room, and Arabella stood up, along with everyone else.
Was it her imagination, or did his eyes immediately search her out?