Chapter Two
“Undoubtedly it is I,” Constance drawled. “Constable Napier, is it not? We meet again in unfortunate circumstances.”
Napier glanced around the tasteful, elegant room, aiming for contempt, though he ended by looking more surprised. Perhaps he had been expecting cheap red velvet and chipped gilt, and blowsy half-dressed women sprawling on the furniture. “Your circumstances don’t look so unfortunate to me.”
“I was referring to those of the dead men on my doorstep,” Constance said. She met the gaze of the second man, who was slightly older and in uniform and wore an expression of appalled bewilderment. “Sergeant, I am Mrs. Grey. Do sit down.”
“Sergeant Bilston, ma’am, from Bow Street,” the older man said with an awkward bow. He sat opposite her, and so did Napier, perched rigidly on the edge of the seat. “You are not, then, the owner of these premises?”
“Yes, I am. I am recently married and so I am no longer Mrs. Silver.”
“Grey?” Napier pounced, staring. “You married him? Fitting!”
“Was that your good wishes, constable?” Constance said affably. “Thank you. Sergeant Bilston, do you have any idea who the dead men are or how they came to be on my doorstep?”
“We are looking into that, ma’am. The gentleman certainly appears to have died by violence, but that is really all we know so far. Tell me, are you acquainted with your neighbor in Grosvenor Square, Mr. St. John?”
“No, I don’t know the name. Or the face.”
“Then he isn’t one of your…clients?” Napier sneered.
“I believe I said I did not know him.”
“Of course, ma’am,” the sergeant said nervously. “Was it you who found the bodies, ma’am?”
“No, it was my gardener and my assistant cook—they had just come out of the back door and discovered them when I arrived.”
“Arrived from where?” Napier interrupted.
“From my home.”
They both looked confused now.
“I thought this was your home?” Bilston said.
“It was, before my marriage.” She opened her reticule and fished out one of the new cards inscribed Mr. and Mrs. Solomon Grey, with the address in smaller print beneath.
“Then this is just your place of…business?” Napier said.
“Sort of, I suppose,” Constance replied. “My friends continue to live here. They pay rent, of course, and help me run the club and the charity.”
Napier laughed. “Is that what you call it?”
“Yes,” Constance said.
Napier’s lips curled with contempt. “I think we all know what this—”
“Constable!” Sergeant Bilston cut him off, almost with desperation.
Constance suspected that the sergeant was well aware of her establishment, which no one ever looked too closely at because there was never any trouble, let alone complaints.
He would not disturb the status quo, but Napier was a loose cannon and would like nothing better than to pin a murder on someone associated with this house, preferably Solomon himself.
Especially without Inspector Omand, his superior, to keep him in line.
“What time did you arrive here this morning, Mrs. Grey?” Bilston asked civilly.
“Before seven, perhaps a quarter to the hour or thereabouts. I heard voices in the garden at the back and they sounded alarmed, so I went straight round.”
“And that was the first time you saw the bodies?”
“Indeed.”
“Who else was there?” Napier asked. “You said the cook and the gardener.”
“My assistant cook, Bibby Barton. And Jeremy Carter, who looks after the garden and the outside of the house.”
“No one else from the household?”
“No. Jeremy had swept the front steps and the area and the path to the back garden. Bibby had just come out the back door to speak to him when they saw the bodies.”
“How did she get out the back door with the body leaning against it?” Napier demanded.
“It was leaning against the wall then. The first constable who came tried to wake him up and the body toppled into the position you see him in now.”
“We’ll need to speak to these two first,” Napier said. “Send for them. Then we’ll see the rest. You can go for now.”
Constance regarded him in silence. The sergeant looked nervous, no doubt because of the blatant incivility, but criminal investigations of this sort were clearly outside his experience.
“Constable, I am prepared to accompany you downstairs to the cook’s sitting room, where you may interview my people in my presence.”
“Oh, no,” Napier said rudely. His back was to the door, so he did not see Solomon come quietly into the room. Constance’s heart lifted immeasurably. “I want the truth and I won’t get it with your threatening them behind my back.”
“Good morning,” Solomon said, strolling across to Constance.
Bilston sprang to his feet and so did Napier, though with surprise rather than respect.
“Solomon,” Constance said, throwing out her hand to him. “I’m so glad you’re here. Something dreadful has happened.”
“I know,” he said, taking her hand, although his eyes were hard and cold as slate as they focused on Napier.
“Max told me. Constable, my wife will have your written apology by tomorrow morning. As it is, you will treat everyone in this house with respect or I will demand a different investigator. And we’ll get one. ”
Napier flushed with anger. He must have known he was in the wrong, understood Solomon would get his way, and this infuriated him.
He regarded Solomon as somehow inferior simply because of the color of his skin, regardless of his education, his wealth, and his worldly success.
It seemed to madden him that important men, including his superiors, treated this “foreigner” with respect.
But then, Napier’s world was very black and white in every way.
“I am investigating murder!” he snapped. “And no one will stand in my way. Your obstruction smacks of guilt.”
“Constable!” wailed the sergeant.
“On the contrary,” Solomon said. “It smacks of common decency.”
“Decency!” Napier exploded. “In this place?”
“Precisely,” Solomon said coolly. “Need I have you escorted from the house?”
“Wind your neck in, constable,” Bilston growled. “I’m Sergeant Bilston, sir, from Bow Street. We would be grateful for the co-operation of yourself and Mrs. Grey.”
“Then, as my wife suggested some time ago, we shall accompany you downstairs and borrow Cook’s sitting room, if she is willing.” Solomon offered his arm to Constance.
Seething, Napier had no choice but to follow them, especially when the sergeant did.
Below stairs was unnaturally subdued, despite the delicious smells of breakfast, cooked largely by Bibby.
“Mrs. Cate, do you mind if we use your sitting room for a while?” Constance asked. She wondered if the courtesy would rub off on Napier but doubted it.
“Whatever you wish, ma’am,” Cook said cheerfully. “Shout when you want to eat.”
“Thank you. Bibby? Come and talk to the sergeant. Would one of you find Jeremy?”
Bibby, looking terrified, had to be led into the room. Constance sat her by the unlit fireplace and then took the chair beside her. Solomon set two chairs opposite and perched his hip on the table under the window.
“Your full name?” Napier barked, getting out his notebook and pencil.
“Elizabeth Barton, sir, but everyone calls me Bibby.”
“And your position in this house?”
“Assistant cook, sir.”
Small-mindedly, Constance wanted her to stop calling Napier “sir” all the time.
Napier fixed her with his harsh gaze. “Is that your only position?”
Tears sprang into Bibby’s eyes, for in truth she hadn’t been respectable for very long, and the idea that she was now meant everything to her. Constance had to bite her lip to stop herself from interfering.
“Yes, sir, I’m a good girl.”
“Of course you are, dear,” Bilston said in a soothing, fatherly kind of way. “So when did you get out of bed this morning?”
“Six o’clock, sir, like always. The boy lights the fire, but I make the tea and do the preparations for first breakfast.”
“First breakfast? For the servants, you mean?”
“And anyone else who’s up.” She blushed crimson. “Some of the g…household rise late, so we do a second breakfast, too.”
Napier’s sneer showed that he understood perfectly. So did Bilston, for he moved on hastily. “What time was it when you went outside?”
“After half six…maybe twenty to? I saw Jemmy’s shadow outside and went to see if he wanted a cup of tea. It was a lovely morning, until…” She swallowed hard.
“You went outside,” Napier repeated. “Down the step?”
“Yes, sir. I called to Jemmy—that is Jeremy, the gardener—and he turned round toward me and his mouth fell open. He made a funny noise in his throat and I turned to look where he was looking, and there they were.”
“Did you know them?”
“No, sir.”
“Then neither of them had ever been in this house?”
Bibby shook her head. “Not that I ever saw, sir, though I’m mostly downstairs.”
“Where were you last night?” Napier asked. “Say, from midnight.”
“In bed, sir. I got the little room in the attic next to Mrs. Cate’s, and it’s all my own.”
“Was anyone with you?”
“No, sir!” she gasped.
Constance patted her hand, glaring at Napier. “He means did anyone wake you during the night? One of the others going to bed later, perhaps?”
“Lord no, I was out like a light and slept like the dead till six. Oh!” Clearly remembering the dead outside, Bibby slapped her free hand across her mouth and clung to Constance.
“Then you didn’t hear anything unusual outside?” Napier prompted her. “No voices? No commotion?”
Bibby shook her head.
“Her room’s at the front of the house,” Constance said.
Napier actually wrote that down too. He seemed much more competent when he was recording details than when he was distracted by his own prejudices. “Very well, that will be all just now. Send in the gardener.”
“Well done,” Constance murmured. “Back to work!”
Bibby fled and Jeremy walked in, scowling, his cap in his hand.