Chapter Eleven
Bella’s mouth dropped open. “I can’t do that! It’s up to my mother, and she has locked his study door. She won’t let anyone in there.”
Constance and Solomon exchanged startled glances.
“Haven’t the police been through his papers?” Constance asked.
Bella shook her head. “Mama forbade it. Inspector Harris did not insist.”
“Does she spend much time in there?” Solomon asked, rather deliberately keeping any unease out of his face and voice.
But Bella shook her head. “No, she cannot face it yet. But she won’t let anyone else in either.”
Constance said carefully, “We know of no one who wanted to hurt your father. But we also believe that he was anxious over the last couple of weeks, something he did not reveal even to his closest friends. Did he talk to you about it?”
“No. No, he seemed just the same to me.” Bella’s frown showed as much guilt as concern. “Did I miss something? Too caught up in my wedding to notice my own father was in pain!”
“He would have hidden it from you,” Constance said. “Men often do. Was he a happy man, Miss St. John?”
Bella opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“No,” she said slowly. “I don’t think he was.
Oh, he was at times. On birthdays and at Christmas, when we did well in our studies—particularly Anthony, who is very clever.
Also, when we went on excursions, or when he’d heard a lecture that impressed him.
But there was always a sadness in his eyes.
A sort of…” She trailed off, shaking her head.
“Discontent?” Solomon suggested. “Restlessness? Some past tragedy, perhaps, that he shared with no one?”
“I don’t know. All of those perhaps. Sometimes I thought—” She halted, pressing her lips tight together to stop them blabbing.
“Your opinion is the most valuable of all,” Constance said gently. “You were his daughter, and if you want the truth, we need to know what you think. Mr. Cordell will tell you we are bound to discretion in all things except the criminal.”
Bella drew a sharp breath. “Sometimes, I thought there was no love between my parents, and it made them both unhappy.”
A first fringe of suspicion brushed against Constance’s mind. She dismissed it for later. “When did you first think this? Recently?”
“No… A few years ago.”
“Why?”
“They spend no time together that is not formal. They rarely argue because it seems neither of them cares enough. But occasionally, I could see that they irritated each other. And then, when Han—Mr. Cordell—asked for my hand and we became engaged, they were so delighted that I thought I was mistaken in such a foolish belief. They actually discussed the wedding together and began to plan… That too was part of my own happiness.” Bella looked down at her hands. “And now it is all gone.”
“No,” Constance said. “It’s just a little lost in grief. It will find its way out again. Now, how can we get into your father’s study?”
Cordell said, “You and your mother are going to Veronique’s tomorrow, are you not?”
“I don’t know if there is any point now,” Bella said, with a return to petulance.
Ignoring that, Cordell persevered. “If you can somehow get the key from your mother and give it to me, I’ll let them in. The servants are quite used to my running tame in the house and will let me wait there with friends.”
Constance bit back that there was no need. She could pick most indoor locks. But a key would certainly speed matters on and make their intrusion less likely to be noticed.
Bella didn’t look at her betrothed but glanced doubtfully from Constance to Solomon and back.
She knew that agreement meant breaking her mother’s trust. The question she had to consider was if the end justified the means.
No one could answer that for her, but Constance was already contemplating the alternative method of breaking and entering.
“If you think that it’s important,” Bella said in a rush, “and that it will help, then I’ll try.”
*
Having agreed to meet Cordell in the gardens at Grosvenor Square at half past ten the following morning, Constance and Solomon left the opening of the office to Janey and Hat while they called at the establishment to make sure all was well.
They alighted from their carriage before nine o’clock, and Constance was ridiculously relieved to see the front doorstep clean and pristine.
On impulse, she set off down the area steps, and Solomon followed her.
The path was swept and the borders tidy all the way around the side path to the back garden.
Here, they discovered Jeremy, his broom abandoned anyhow on the path beside him. He stood facing the back door, both hands grasping his cloth hat and pulling it so hard down on his head that his knuckles were white.
“Again,” he said in anguish. “It’s happened again.”
Constance went to him at once. Solomon brushed past them both and finally saw what was upsetting Jeremy. The body of a man lay spread across the back step.
*
Unlike the last time, there was no doubt that this man was dead. The flies were already buzzing around him. And the smell was such that Solomon had to raise his handkerchief to his mouth and nose.
But the next steps were distressingly familiar. Jeremy was taken into the house through the area door. The back door was locked while a stable lad was sent for a constable. Constance and Solomon forced themselves to examine the scene.
It had been raining last night, and there were muddy footprints on the path.
“They look like workman’s boots, not a little old lady’s,” Constance remarked.
“And then there is this wheel track across the grass,” Solomon said, pointing. “If I’m not mistaken, the body was brought in a wheelbarrow.”
They both had cause to recognize such tracks from the case of the girl found in the lake at the home of Constance’s friend, Lady Maule.
Constance pointed to other marks on the path just under the step. “That’s where he laid the barrow down, before tipping the body out onto the step.”
Solomon nodded. The body lay on its side, slightly curled, probably exactly as it had fallen.
“Not posed,” he murmured, “but definitely moved. This man has been dead for days.”
“And whoever brought him was careless. Or just unlucky.” She raised her eyes to his. “Is this part of the campaign to drive us out? Or meant to distract us and the police from looking into St. John’s life?”
Solomon put his arm around her and urged her away from the scene. They had both had enough. “What are you thinking?” he asked.
“That Bella knows what we’re about. And that there’s every chance she told her mother.”
“In which case, we can’t rule out Cordell either,” Solomon said. “Or Zenobia Paul. Isn’t it more likely to be the minions of the old ladies?”
“Whoever it is must have brought the body some distance. It wasn’t just waiting at the bottom of the garden to be discovered. They must have allies. Either way, I shall be interested to observe Cordell’s manner when we meet him—supposing we can escape the police’s clutches before then.”
*
It was after ten before Jacintha St. John managed to shepherd her daughter into the carriage.
Which was annoying. It had been Bella’s idea, after all, to keep the date of her wedding and merely draw back on the lavishness of the celebration.
Jacintha had given in only reluctantly, for she would have preferred proper mourning to be publicly maintained.
On the other hand, why should Bella’s happiness be compromised because of her degenerate father? In fact, it made sense to have her safely married into the Cordell family as soon as possible just in case scandal ever broke over Terrence’s death.
For now, she thought they were safe. The police had found nothing—thank God—and she must make sure they never did.
If all went according to plan, Terrence’s death would be ruled an accident and the police investigation halted.
There was always the possibility of a suicide ruling, of course, which brought its own shame, but the solicitor had assured her that juries were unlikely to bring in such a verdict unless the evidence was overwhelming.
And in this case, everyone knew Terrence was a happy fellow.
Even Zenobia Paul would not dispute that.
“There you are!” Jacintha exclaimed, finally running her daughter to earth in the little-used morning room, where she appeared to be having a spirited argument with her betrothed.
“Oh, good morning, Han. I did not know you were here. Bella, do put on your hat—the carriage is waiting. It is you two who insist on proceeding, remember?”
“Of course, Mama,” Bella said, a little stiltedly, which made Jacintha peer at her.
“Enjoy your morning,” Han said in his easy manner. “I shall call again later, if I may…”
He kissed Bella’s cheek, and the silly girl looked outraged, as if she would have preferred to keep quarrelling. But he escorted them from the house, handed them into the carriage, and strolled across the road toward the garden.
“Don’t quarrel with a man who loves you,” Jacintha said as the carriage pulled into motion.
“How does one know?” Bella asked. “How did you know that Papa loved you?” Jacintha was glad not to be looking at her daughter as the question burst out, and fortunately Bella did not seem to want an answer. “Words don’t mean anything, do they?”
“Actions mean more,” Jacintha said, suddenly distracted.
The carriage was held up by a queue of vehicles in front, and she found herself gazing down the crescent.
A policeman in his uniform and tall hat stood on the pavement beside the front steps.
“Now that is interesting. They must be investigating there again…”
“There?” Bella said, following her mother’s gaze.
“That is the house of immorality Mrs. Willow was kind enough to mention yesterday afternoon.”