Chapter Two #2
For Constance, this was a slightly trickier interview.
She could hardly pat Jeremy’s hand for comfort without causing speculation, and yet he was liable to need it more than Bibby.
He did not do well indoors, discovering the bodies had given him a fright, and he was likely to lose his temper if he perceived any threat to Constance.
He sat in the chair next to her only when she told him to, but when asked by the policemen, he recited his name and occupation clearly enough. “I look after the outside of the house and the garden. And the horses when I’m needed.”
He told the same story as Bibby about discovering the bodies, having only noticed them when he turned toward the house in response to Bibby’s call.
When asked where he had been during the night, he said, “Stables. I sleep there.”
“In the mews,” Constance explained. “Jeremy and a couple of the grooms have quarters above the stables.”
“All in the one room?” Napier pounced. “Did any of you go out?”
“No, they’re up early with the horses, and I’ve got the area to clean and the paths to sweep afore anyone’s up,” Jeremy replied.
“What time is that, then?”
He shrugged. “When it’s light.”
“And were all the grooms there when you got up?”
Jeremy thought about it. “Yes.”
“Did you hear any unusual commotion during the night, happen to see anyone going into the back garden from the mews?”
Jeremy shook his head. “Sleeping.”
Napier changed tack. “How did you get from the mews to the garden without seeing the bodies?”
Jeremy twitched, which was not a good sign. “Went round the roadway.”
“Why?” Napier demanded.
“Always do. I like it. Wakes me up. No one around. I start at the front steps, then clean the area and sweep the path round to the back. When I’ve swept all the paths, it’s breakfast.”
“I see,” Napier said, staring at him.
Jeremy relaxed.
“How long have you worked here?”
He frowned. “Dunno. Two summers before this.”
“Where did you work before?” Napier asked.
Jeremy’s twitch was more agitated this time.
“I don’t think that’s relevant, is it, constable?” Constance intervened. “Thanks, Jeremy, you can go back to the garden now.”
Jeremy sprang up. So did Napier, his angry mouth already open to object.
If Jeremy noticed, he didn’t let it stop him, and when Napier bolted after him, Solomon stood in his way.
And yet she didn’t think she’d ever told Solomon Jeremy’s story.
He had just gathered what to do from watching her—or perhaps Jeremy himself.
“You are obstructing me!” Napier said furiously, trying to swat Solomon aside.
Jeremy swung around, his face grim, ready to step in.
Constance said quickly, “It’s fine, Jeremy. Mr. Grey is here with me. You carry on.”
Jeremy glared hard from Napier to Solomon, to the worried-looking sergeant, then back to Constance. He nodded once and left, closing the door behind him.
“Let me explain, constable,” Constance said quickly, before Napier exploded.
“Jeremy does not do well indoors. He was ill treated, kept in chains in conditions you would not leave a dog, and forced to fight for sport. It’s not good to remind him.
He’s not an aggressive man, but he is protective of those who got him out of that place. ”
“You?” Napier said in disbelief.
Solomon stepped back. “Most of the people here have been rescued from one form of abuse or another.”
Napier, however, was nothing if not single-minded. “Then he’s dangerous?”
Another pitfall. “Not if you don’t shout at me,” Constance said, “and even then he would do no more than necessary to throw you out. He is gentle by nature.”
For the first time that she had ever seen, Napier looked confounded, but he continued to stare at her, as though daring her to admit something else. Until the door opened quietly and Inspector Harris walked in.
At this point, Constance regarded him as an old friend and smiled at him. He paused, blinking.
“Ah, Napier. Inspector Omand was looking for you.” He inclined his head to the rest of the room. “Mrs. Silver. Mr. Grey. Sergeant, my thanks for holding the fort, as it were. I believe we needn’t keep you any longer. You can finally get off to your bed.”
“Thank you, sir,” Bilston said with considerable relief. He rose and effaced himself, muttering, “Ma’am, sir,” in the general direction of Constance and Solomon.
“Well,” Inspector Harris said, “corpses a little closer to home, this time. Why did I have to be landed with you? I’m not going to find the Tizsas in the drawing room, am I?”
The Tizsas were a pair of well-born amateur sleuths—an English duke’s daughter and a Hungarian revolutionary refugee of noble birth—who had first introduced Constance and Solomon.
“Not today,” Constance said. “How are you, inspector?”
“I was well until I got to the office.”
“And Sergeant Flynn?”
“You may ask him yourself. He has gone to the house of this Terrence St. John to see if he is indeed our corpse.”
Napier appeared deflated that Harris already seemed to be au fait with the case. “Do I have to go back to Scotland Yard, sir?”
Harris regarded him. “Well, you are commended for the initiative of being here so quickly. And Mr. Omand is up to his neck in reports. He is willing to lend you to me as long as I need you. Considering this case would appear to involve several important people, I’ll need all the help I can get to solve this quickly and discreetly.
” He smiled a little wolfishly. “But be warned—I’m not as tolerant as Mr. Omand.
Neither is Sergeant Flynn. Now, then, where are we with witnesses? ”
A short rap at the door heralded Janey, marching in with purpose. “If you please, ma’am,” she said, glaring around the room, “if I’m wanted, can I be questioned now? I need to get to work.”
“Work?” Napier said with loathing.
Janey looked down her nose at him. “I’m Mr. and Mrs. Grey’s assistant at Silver and Grey Inquiries.”
“Are you, indeed?” Harris said with interest. “Then by all means, let’s have you in…”
*
By the time Sergeant Flynn appeared, grinning amiably at Constance and Solomon, most of the domestic staff had been interviewed and revealed nothing, and the other girls, wakened by all the fuss, had begun to trickle downstairs looking for their second breakfast.
“Well?” Harris demanded of Flynn, having released Max from his questioning.
“Looks like St. John is our gentleman,” Flynn said. “He’s not at home, though they searched the house for him and sent servants flying to all likely places in search of him. Mrs. St. John has agreed to come down to the mortuary to identify him. I said afternoon would do.”
Harris sighed. “When was he last seen?”
“By his family, at dinner last night. He went out for the evening alone, and came home about eleven o’clock.
His valet waited on him but was sent away.
Mr. St. John said he was going to bed. The rest of the household had already retired.
The doors were all locked this morning when the servants got up, the back doors bolted from the inside.
None of the household reported Mr. St. John appearing upset or worried or behaving any differently over the previous few days.
And he was, apparently, in perfect health. ”
“Is there any connection between him and the vagrant?” Solomon asked.
“Not that we’ve discovered so far. Except that Mr. St. John was something of a philanthropist.”
“He is,” Solomon said. “He is on the committee of St. Peter’s Hospital in—”
“Couldn’t you have told us that before?” Napier exploded.
Solomon raised his brows. “No one asked. I came late to the proceedings, if you recall, and I never saw the bodies. But if you’re interested, I have not seen Mr. St. John in several months, and we were only ever on nodding terms.”
“I don’t suppose you moved in the same circles,” Napier said, his sneer returning.
“Never suppose without proof,” Harris said curtly. “So who is this St. John? What does he do? Is he well thought of?”
“Of landed family, I believe,” Solomon said, “though his fortune comes mainly from stocks and investments. He certainly gives generously to charities. Or did.”
“Charities for the homeless, perhaps?” Harris asked hopefully. “Could that be how he knew the vagrant?”
Flynn stirred. “Not many gentlemen—er…get their hands dirty in their charitable giving.”
“In this case, I could not say,” Solomon replied.
“Would anyone like breakfast?” Constance asked. “I’m starving.”
*
All the girls had been interviewed, Flynn was escorting Mrs. St. John to the police mortuary, and Napier was dispatched back to Scotland Yard before Solomon and Constance had the chance to speak alone to Harris.
“How did they die?” Constance asked him bluntly.
“I imagine you know as much as I do by this stage. As far as the gentleman is concerned, the knife in his back would appear to be the cause.”
“But there was no blood,” Constance said.
Harris’s gaze rose swiftly to hers. “You noticed that, did you? I’m afraid we need the doctor to explain it.”
“And the vagrant?” Solomon asked.
Harris shrugged. “No obvious marks on him. It’s as if he just died. Not unusual with those who live on the streets. They get lung infections, or poison themselves with bad food, and die. However it happens, they tend not to live long and healthy lives.”
“No,” Constance agreed. Girls working on the streets had many of the same problems. She hesitated, then said, “The bodies were in odd positions when I saw them. Their legs faced front, but their upper bodies didn’t.”
“You think they were moved?” Solomon said.
“The gentleman certainly was. Either that or he moved himself after he was stabbed and put his back against the wall—while leaving his legs and feet pointing straight ahead. Like the tramp.”
“Either way, you have another problem,” Harris said.
Napier, Solomon thought wryly.
“If they died on your doorstep,” Harris said, “why were they there? And if they died somewhere else and were somewhat inexpertly posed on your doorstep, why? Why your door?”