Chapter Four #2
“There has had to be an inquest, you know, because he did not die at home,” Mrs. St. John said with a nervous flutter. “So unnecessarily brutal. Mr. Cordell attended on our behalf, which was so kind… Do sit down, Mr. Grey.”
“What did the inquest establish?” Solomon asked, as the servants brought tea and dainty cakes and sandwiches.
“It was adjourned for further investigation,” Cordell said smoothly. “Which is hardly what his family needs.”
“Nor the poor people whose doorstep he was apparently sitting on when he died,” Mrs. St. John said with unexpected sympathy. “Nothing was ever straightforward with Terrence, but he can’t have meant to bring such trouble to them.”
Solomon accepted a cup of tea from his hostess and helped himself from the proffered plate of sandwiches. Relieved if somewhat surprised by the widow’s attitude to Constance’s establishment, he risked saying, “Perhaps he had friends in the house he meant to call upon.”
“No, he did not,” Cordell said at once.
“At any rate,” Solomon said, “it must be of some comfort to you that his last act was one of kindness.”
They all regarded him with obvious bafflement.
“To the poor vagrant,” Solomon said mildly, “whom he must have stopped to help.”
“Oh, no,” Bella said. “You have that quite wrong. The beast attacked my father and robbed him.” Fresh tears made her eyes swim. Her mother’s cup rattled on the saucer as though her hands shook.
“I beg your pardon,” Solomon said. “I did not mean to upset you further.”
“You haven’t,” the boy, Anthony, said quickly. “It is just an upsetting time, and policemen asking interminable questions don’t make things easier for my mother and sister.”
“Of course not,” Solomon said. There was considerable strain in the boy’s face, and in the nerves of his womenfolk, as if they had no time to grieve because of everything else that was going on around them.
In the circumstance, asking more questions seemed both cruel and likely to lead to his dismissal should he wish to call again.
So while he drank his tea, he made sympathetic noises and begged them to let him know if he could be of any assistance at all.
It was Cordell who rose first. “I must go. But I shall call again tomorrow morning. And, of course, you must send for me if you need me before then.” He kissed his betrothed’s hand and her pale cheek.
She clung to him a little, but he detached himself with gentle firmness before bowing more formally to Mrs. St. John.
“I shall take my leave also,” Solomon said. “My most sincere sympathies to you all.”
In truth, he was glad to leave the strange, nerve-jangling atmosphere of the grieving family, but he also hoped to speak more openly to Cordell. The footman handed them their hats and they left together in silence.
“I’m afraid I have been clumsy and said the wrong thing,” Solomon said, adeptly choosing the same direction as his companion. “Did the inquest really decide that that the vagrant attacked and robbed Mr. St. John?”
“Well, not exactly. A policeman asked for it to be adjourned, but in lining up the evidence they did have, it came out that Mr. St. John’s notecase was found in the vagrant’s pocket, and that the vagrant’s knife was in Mr. John’s back.
I don’t think it takes a great deal of intelligence to deduce what happened. ”
“The vagrant’s knife?” Solomon repeated, startled. This was news to him.
“So it was said. Another vagrant claimed to have seen it in his possession many times. But talking of saying the wrong thing…” Cordell met Solomon’s gaze.
“This is difficult enough for the family. They know St. John was found on a neighbor’s back doorstep, but we have carefully kept from them which neighbor. I expect you are aware.”
“I am.”
“Then you will understand the need not to inflict further hurt on the poor ladies.”
“Oh, quite. But—forgive me—your attitude implies that you believe St. John was a client there. I understand this was not the case.”
Cordell’s eyebrows flew up. “How can you possibly know that?” Too late, he realized the likeliest means, and blushed. His nostrils flared. “You are a frequent visitor yourself, sir? I suppose we are both men of the world.”
“Not in the way you mean. You might say the house is mine, through my marriage to Mrs. Silver.”
Various expressions chased each other across Cordell’s face—outrage, consternation, indecision.
Solomon smiled slightly. “Before you denounce me and forbid me the society of your betrothed and her family, allow me to say that both my wife and her establishment are rather more than you may imagine.”
Cordell closed his mouth, then shrugged impatiently. “I’ve heard Rawleigh and others say such things recently. I do not set myself up as a judge, but I still don’t want my wife-to-be or her mother to know that’s where St. John spent his last moments. It would add insult to injury, don’t you think?”
“I could not speak for the ladies,” Solomon said tactfully. “There would appear to be several possibilities as to how he came to be where he was found. Was Mr. St. John in the habit of frequenting such establishments?”
Cordell shook his head. “I can’t imagine it. He was a fastidious sort of fellow. On the other hand, I believe he did have a long-term mistress.” He shot another glance at Solomon.
“Another conversation not to have with Mrs. St. John,” Solomon agreed. “But to be honest with you, Mr. Cordell, I am seeking the truth for my wife’s sake. I would appreciate the name and direction of this mistress.”
“I didn’t learn this from St. John,” Cordell said quickly. “It’s only rumor and gossip. But I have seen him in this woman’s company. He even introduced me to her openly as his ‘old friend,’ Miss Zenobia Paul. Are you thinking he might have been on his way to or from her house when he was killed?”
“It’s a possibility. Unless you know otherwise?”
“I dined with the family that evening, after which Mr. St. John went out—to his club, I think. I believe his valet saw him return about eleven, but he obviously went out again. That is all I know.”
“Thank you,” Solomon said. “It seemed criminally bad manners to question the family, but I do need to know the truth.”
“I suppose the police hold your household in suspicion also,” Cordell said. “I must admit, I did not bargain for such unpleasantness when I proposed to Miss St. John.”
Solomon cocked an eyebrow. “Regretting it?”
“Good Lord, no,” Cordell said easily. “Always prepared for the ‘better or worse’—I just didn’t expect the ‘worse’ quite so soon!”
“When is it you plan to marry? Will you have to postpone it?”
“At the end of June.” Cordell tugged at his left ear. “I don’t want to postpone, but I shall leave it up to Bella.”
“Most understanding of you. Did you spend the rest of St. John’s final evening with your betrothed’s family?”
“I did. You sound like the policeman.”
“I beg your pardon. What time did you leave the St. John house?”
Cordell blinked.
“Sorry,” Solomon said. “I don’t mean to interrogate you. I am only trying to establish where Mr. St. John was at what time. Did you see any sign of him, or anyone that might have been him, on your way home?”
Cordell looked thoughtful but shook his head. “I left just after eleven and walked home, but I don’t recall seeing anyone. A few passing carriages, perhaps.”
“Where is home?”
“Brook Street.”
“Not so far, then. Did you remain there, or go out again?”
Cordell cast him an amused sideways glance.
“Now you do sound like the policeman. I met friends at my club, which I’m sure the police have already ascertained.
I had no reason to kill my prospective father-in-law.
I liked him, and he was happily in favor of my marriage to his daughter, of whom he was inordinately fond.
I am, you know, an eligible bachelor, of good family, and financially sound. And he knew I was devoted to Bella.”
“I never doubted it,” Solomon said smoothly. “Forgive me for what must seem unpardonable curiosity. My wife and I run a private investigation business, so asking questions to clarify all aspects of a situation has become second nature to both of us.”
“Good Lord,” Cordell said, fascination in his gaze. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. What sort of things do you investigate—er…privately?”
“Oh, various matters, from ghostly sightings to lost and stolen property and missing persons. Some such have involved murder. And then there are the people who wish their prospective employees to be investigated.”
Cordell’s lip curled. “And wives their straying husbands? Or vice versa.”
“We do receive such requests,” Solomon admitted, “but we never accept them.”
“On the grounds of vulgarity?” Cordell asked, clearly amused.
“On the grounds that we cannot solve private issues of trust.”
Cordell tilted his head. “You are a very odd sort of fellow. From all I ever heard of the mysterious Solomon Grey, I thought you were this hideously wealthy semi-recluse from the West Indies, who only emerged into public to secure deals that made you even more money. Now I discover you to be a smart English gentleman married to London’s most famous courtesan and employed for purposes I can only call prying. ”
“Well it is all true to some degree,” Solomon said. “Do you not have many facets?”
For an instant, something very like discontent flickered across Cordell’s face. “No. I am my father’s heir, a good son and a jolly good fellow all round. Ask anyone.”
“And if I were to ask you?”
“You already did.”
“Then allow me to be more specific. What exactly are you heir to? Land?”
“Yes.”
“Private wealth?”
“Yes. I am a gentleman of leisure who employs business managers to look after his interests. No trade tarnishes my blue-blooded hands. Nor profession.”
“Do you want one?”
He shrugged. “I have no interests and less aptitude, so no.”
Solomon smiled faintly. “I believe that is the first lie you have told me.”
Cordell reared back in outrage, his eyes hardening.
Then an unexpected bark of laughter broke from him.
“You are quite good at this, aren’t you?
Yes, it was a lie, about the interest, at least, if not the aptitude.
I remain untested. My father is very averse to risk—financially, socially, and every other way you can think of.
Failure, you might say, can never be contemplated. ”
“Failure in what?”
Cordell hesitated, betraying uncertainty for the first time since Solomon had met him. He shrugged. “In my case…occasionally, when I’m bored or discontented, I consider going into politics. Amusing, is it not?”
“Not so far. What are you discontented with?”
“The way things are run in this country, and in others. With the poverty that is all around us, only a few hundred yards from where we walk now. With crime and violence. With a foreign policy so out of date that we could easily go to war over something that is not our business and would be better negotiated by all parties concerned.”
“Meaning that what kept the peace in Europe after 1815 no longer works in 1853?”
“Exactly.” Cordell smiled ruefully. “My father tells me I don’t know what I’m talking about. And he is right to some degree. I would like to know more.”
“And you have the leisure to learn.”
“But no possibility of using that knowledge.” Cordell waved a hand. “But we have strayed from the point somewhat. My ambitions, or lack of them, don’t really help with the murder of my almost-father-in-law.”
“Did he have enemies?”
“Not that I ever heard. Everyone liked him. Amiable man, happy to talk about anything. He even listened to my political ramblings when I’d had one too many glasses of port. He seemed to take me seriously.”
Which implied that other people, including Cordell’s father, did not.
“Was he involved with politics?” Solomon asked.
“No, but he was interested in many things. A good man to converse with, whether on serious matters or amusing ones.”
“Good company,” Solomon said.
“Exactly.” Cordell grimaced. “I shall miss him. Quite aside from Bella’s grief and the possible postponement of our marriage.”
Solomon’s impression of the dead man was growing but still elusive. “You mentioned a mistress. Did Mrs. St. John know about her?”
“If she did, she was a good wife and pretended not to.” Cordell’s eyes widened. “You cannot suspect Jacintha St. John of murder!”
“It often is the spouse, you know,” Solomon said mildly, “and there is a view that poison is a woman’s weapon. But no, I have no real reason to suspect Mrs. St. John. Did you notice him behaving differently in the previous few days or weeks? Did he seem worried or unhappy?”
Cordell half shook his head, then interrupted the action, frowning.
“Actually, I did catch him looking intensely unhappy once. He didn’t hear me come into his study, and just for a moment, his expression shook me.
Then he smiled at me and made some joke, and I saw that I’d been mistaken.
Some people do look overly serious in repose when in reality they are thinking of nothing at all. ”
“So he did not confide in you?”
“My feeling was, he had nothing to confide. His life was an open book, you might say.”
“Apart from the mistress.”
Cordell’s glance was curious. “I expected you of all men to be more tolerant of such peccadillos.”
Solomon did not smile. “Facets, Mr. Cordell. My wife is a virtuous woman. A man of your interests could do worse than call at her establishment one evening. Your own virtue need be in no danger, and if you chose, it could certainly add to your understanding of the realities of poverty.”