Chapter Fourteen
Intrigued, Constance left Solomon’s office and went to see who was in the waiting room. The very fashionable young lady, who sat there with all the poise of a princess, lifted her veil.
“Miss St. John,” Constance said in surprise. “Is Mr. Cordell with you?”
“No. I am quite capable of hiring a hackney on my own.”
“Then I presume your mother doesn’t know you’re here either.”
A smile flashed across the girl’s face and was gone.
“Hmm,” said Constance. “Did you wish to be private with me?”
Bella hesitated. “Partly.”
Constance closed the door and sat beside her.
“You understand men,” Bella blurted.
“I have reason to,” Constance said evenly.
The girl met her gaze. “Would you tell me if I was wrong to trust Han Cordell?”
“Yes,” Constance replied.
“Even though he’s your client?”
“Not in the manner of his life. He really was never a client of mine. He is not that type of man, and I think you know it.”
“Then why am I still so angry with him?” Bella demanded.
“Because he came to us behind your back?”
Bella stared at her, then suddenly laughed. “You’re right.”
“I imagine he was protecting you,” Constance said, “but you need to be clear between yourselves about honesty before you marry.”
“Were you and Mr. Grey?”
“Yes,” Constance said, before she remembered the insight that had been creeping up on her and that she had not yet shared with Solomon. There were many forms of protection.
“Then I shall speak to Han,” Bella said. “Mama has very fixed rules about what a lady should and should not discuss with her husband, let alone a mere husband-to-be.”
“Did she keep to these rules in her own marriage?”
“I expect she did. Which is possibly why they never spoke of anything that mattered. Do you know he was a musician? My father played the violin quite beautifully.”
“So a friend told me.”
“He stopped playing in public to please my mother, but they never spoke about it. He never told her what music meant to him. And she never explained the reason for her disapproval. Or her disappointment…” Bella straightened. “Have you learned any more about my father’s death?”
“A little. In fact, if we could join Solomon, there are several matters you could help us with.”
“Of course.”
A few minutes later, when they were all settled in Solomon’s office with tea, Constance asked, “Did your father ever talk of an old friend called Gareth Neville?”
Bella sipped her tea thoughtfully. “Not that I can recall.”
“What about Zenobia Paul?” Solomon asked.
Bella wrinkled her nose. “Very occasionally. Mama did not care for her. From her distaste and Anthony’s and Han’s evasions, I suspect she was my father’s mistress.”
“I don’t believe she was,” Constance said, “but she was certainly an old friend.”
“What about Elton Granger?” Solomon asked. “The member of Parliament.”
“Oh yes, we know him. He and his wife come to dinner sometimes, and we occasionally dine with them. I like him. So does Han. In fact, I think Han has similar ambitions.”
“Then your father never quarreled with Mr. Granger? Or with Miss Paul?”
“Not that I ever heard. Papa was much too well mannered and tolerant to quarrel with anyone.”
Constance went to the desk drawer and drew out the purloined invoices from Veronique. “Has Madame Veronique always made your clothes?”
“Only since I came out. But I believe she’s dressed Mama for about ten years. Why?”
“Because even by the standards of fashionable modistes,” Constance said, “she charges a formidable amount of money.”
“It is expected,” Bella said with a little shrug, glancing at the accounts Constance laid before her on the table. Her eyes widened. “Whose—?” She broke off the question as she took in the name and address at the top of each. She swallowed. “That does seem an awful lot of money.”
After a blank moment, she suddenly frowned and snatched one bill off the table.
“Blue silk evening gown… We never bought such a gown. The color does not suit me or my mother. And the date…” She straightened the other account and cast her gaze over it too.
“There’s a mistake. These are someone else’s accounts.
The last of my trousseau was delivered two weeks before this date.
And there is not a blue evening gown nor a coral walking dress amongst them. Why would Papa have paid for them?”
She lifted her gaze to Constance and then to Solomon. “Did you find these in my father’s study?”
Constance nodded.
“Perhaps he just paid everything without consulting Mama.”
“Veronique always sends accounts directly to your father?”
“I suppose she must have. I never thought of it. But such an exorbitant sum he would surely have queried… Oh, I have it! Mama must have bought these dresses for herself.”
“Can you find out?” Constance asked.
“Yes. Why does it matter?”
“No particular reason. It just seemed odd to us.”
Solomon asked, “How did your mother come to patronize Veronique? Was she recommended to her?”
“I really don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I’m not sure,” Solomon said. “Have you ordered anything else from her?”
“Only black mourning gowns. They were delivered this morning.”
“Could you intercept the bill when it arrives? Or at least take note of it?”
“Yes, if you think it’s important. What is it you suspect?”
“We’re not sure yet,” Constance said. “We’re just following oddities that have anything to do with your father.”
“You said your mother had locked the study and couldn’t yet face sorting your father’s papers,” Solomon said. “Is that still the case?”
“Yes, I think so. Why?”
“There was a bundle of letters in his desk—personal letters, mostly those sent by you and your brother when you were children, and a few from old friends. But the bundle seemed to be thinner than at one time, as though someone had removed a few letters.”
“It must have been my father. No one else goes in there when he is not present.” Bella’s voice wobbled and she swallowed.
“Do you remember anyone visiting him in the study in the week or so before he died?”
“Only Anthony and me.”
“Not an old friend—like Mr. Granger, perhaps?”
“Not that I can recall, but sometimes he stayed at home when Mama and I were out, so it is possible. But Mr. Granger would never poke into Papa’s possessions! He is a gentleman.”
“Of course not,” Solomon soothed her. “Tell me, would your father have any reason to be worried about Anthony?”
The question seemed to surprise her—it surprised Constance too, for she had never really considered Anthony—but Bella thought about it.
“Only about his going away from home to university, but I wouldn’t say he was worried, precisely—just the usual concerns parents have, I suppose, that he wouldn’t go wild and get into all sorts of trouble.
But Anthony isn’t really that kind of boy. Papa was proud of him.”
“Of course,” Solomon said.
Bella stood up. “I must go. Mama will need me… The funeral is this afternoon.”
Hat was dispatched to fetch a hackney, which she did speedily. Finally alone again, Constance looked at Solomon. “Anthony?”
“A boy gets up to mischief without considering the consequences. St. John sounds the sort of man who would do anything to protect his son.”
“It would have to be something wretchedly serious for him to be blackmailed over it! Besides, how would Veronique find out find out about it?” Even as she asked the question, she knew it was foolish.
Like a servant, only without the loyalty, dressmakers would overhear a lot of private conversation, rumor, and gossip.
She drew in a breath. “Perhaps that is what Zenobia is not telling us, from loyalty to St. John. If she knew about Anthony’s trouble, but not about the blackmail, then she would see no reason to pass it on. ”
“I would like to speak to him,” Solomon said. Then he shook his head. “But even if this is true, I don’t see how it helps us find St. John’s killer.”
“Neither do I,” Constance said bleakly.
*
Janey had timed her visit to the tea shop perfectly. Veronique’s assistant was allowed half an hour for an early luncheon late in the morning, just before the busy period for the shop, when the wealthy ladies of leisure were most likely to call.
From her position opposite the tearoom window, Janey could also see if Anne Morris walked past and be able to follow her. She had the coin for her tea in her pocket, ready for a swift departure. But Anne, clearly a creature of habit, came in almost exactly when expected.
Janey smiled and waved to her. The girl’s face lit up in recognition and she changed direction to come up to her.
“Join me if you like,” Janey said cheerfully. “I was just debating whether or not to have a cake and another cup of tea. Now, I will.”
Anne sat down. “Much more pleasant to have company,” she agreed. “Since you have the time, I’m guessing you were not engaged by that lady yesterday?”
Being interviewed for a position nearby had been yesterday’s excuse to be idling in the tea shop.
Janey wrinkled her nose. “The old bat had already given the position to the girl before me. A waste of my time. So I got to thinking…” She broke off to let Anne order her sandwiches, and then, with a thrill of daring, Janey also ordered cakes and another pot of tea.
Well, she had to do her job properly, and Constance rarely quibbled…
It would be even more pleasant if Lenny could join them, she thought wistfully, but she didn’t really expect him until the afternoon.
“What were you thinking?” Anne asked when the waitress went away.
“About your place, the dress shop. Maybe I should think about a change. I got no experience, mind, but I can sew neatly enough to be a lady’s maid, so I might be some use to the likes of your mistress. I don’t suppose she’s thinking of taking on anyone else?”
“She does mention it from time to time, because we’re terribly busy. But she never actually gets around to it. If you like, I’ll mention you to her this afternoon.”