Chapter Thirty-Four
Frederick
The deception didn’t sit right in his gut.
Frederick stood across the street from Eleanor’s townhouse, wondering if she was at home.
But he couldn’t trust Lady Mary to keep the information to herself that he still investigated Mrs. Lynton.
Until he’d either cleared the woman or found evidence of her guilt, he didn’t want Eleanor to know.
The door at his back swung open. “Can I help you, sir?”
Frederick turned. This was the fourth neighbor’s home he’d questioned.
He handed the butler his card. “I’d like to speak with the servants here.
Can we meet in the kitchens perhaps?” He’d already spoken to the owners of the houses that neighbored the Lyntons.
The servants, however, seemed more willing to gossip, and their knowledge surpassed that of their masters.
The butler was skilled at controlling his emotions. With just an incline of his head, he said, “Of course, sir. If you’ll follow me,” as though being questioned by an officer of Bow Street were an everyday occurrence.
Frederick was offered a cup of tea and a slice of nut bread while he waited for the remaining servants to gather.
Their answers were similar to what he’d already learned from the neighboring houses.
The Lynton servants were worried about their mistress.
She’d always been such a kind, concerned lady, but lately she’d shown signs of temper. Of imbalance.
“She kept Mr. Grosse and Miss Olive on even through all that family’s troubles,” the cook said, pushing another wedge of bread at him even though he hadn’t finished his first. “Treated like family, they are.”
“Do you think her servants would lie to protect her? Tell me she remained at home when she might have left?” Frederick asked.
An uncomfortable silence met his question. “They’re good people,” the butler finally said. “They wouldn’t lie to the law.”
“But they don’t know all the comings and goings,” one of the maids added. “Mr. Grosse, sweet man, doesn’t hear the best, and Miss Olive likes her sleep a bit too much if you ask me.”
“No one asked you.” The cook glared at the girl.
Frederick swirled the remains of his tea in his cup. “Is she wrong though?”
“No.” The butler cleared his throat. “That household might not be as attentive as some. That doesn’t mean Mrs. Lynton did anything wrong.”
It didn’t mean that she hadn’t, either. “On the night of the murder, did any of you see anyone leave the house?” he asked.
“It’s hard to remember,” the butler said. “That was over a fortnight ago.”
Something in the man’s tone made Frederick grip his bit of lead a little tighter. “But you have seen someone going out at night. Mrs. Lynton?”
The servants gave each other uneasy looks.
“A woman and her son were murdered.” Frederick turned a pointed stare on each of them. “This is not a time to withhold the truth.”
The cook’s shoulders heaved. “I have an achy back, you see. A bit of walking does it good most nights. I figure Mrs. Lynton might have the same problem. I see her sometimes leaving her house.” She scooted forward on her chair. “But she’s not going out for the night. She’s in her night rail she is.”
“One of her people always comes out to fetch her,” the butler added quickly.
Frederick cocked his head. “Always?”
The butler scratched at a mark on the wood table. “Well, once or twice we’ve had to knock on their door. Let them know Mrs. Lynton was feeling poorly.”
Frederick swallowed. The Lynton’s front door wasn’t as closely watched as Eleanor’s servants would have him believe. And how could it be? The house wasn’t a prison. If someone wanted to leave, she would find a way.
Frederick thanked them for their time and stood, feeling like a fifty-pound yoke burdened his shoulders. The story was the same elsewhere. Mrs. Lynton’s alibi was easily punctured. Her emotional instability was well-known and her hatred of the victim likewise acknowledged.
He followed the butler out the servant’s exit, ignoring the snub, and breathed in deeply.
The sky was overcast and grim, a match to his mood.
Perhaps it would finally rain, but he didn’t hold out hope.
There had been too many times he’d been led to believe the gathering clouds would bring relief.
Too many times when hope had been dangled in front of him, only to be snatched away.
There were more neighbors to question, but how many times did he need to hear what he already knew?
Eleanor’s mother had a motive to harm Lady Richford and the opportunity.
And after seeing the bruises and scratches on Eleanor’s arms, he knew she had the ability as well.
There was truth to the yarn that madmen had heightened strength. The same went for madwomen.
He felt dirty compiling a case against Eleanor’s mother. Then he felt annoyed. It was his job, after all. More than that, his responsibility to protect society from someone who was prone to do harm. His duty to protect Eleanor.
But he knew she wouldn’t feel the same.
Hoping to alleviate his guilt, he directed his driver to another suspect’s residence, feeling fortunate when Miss Abbott answered his knock.
“I’m leaving in twenty minutes for a demonstration on electricity,” she told him after seating herself in her large parlor. “They are going to reanimate a frog, and I won’t miss that.”
Her flat was open, the parlor and dining area sharing a space. One door led off the north side of the room to a small kitchen, peeking through the narrow doorway. Another door led from the east of the room to the woman’s private chambers, he assumed.
“I’ll make this brief.” Frederick remained standing, gripping the back of the chair before him.
“My associates are currently searching for the man I learned purchased stolen jewelry from Lady Richford.” He considered jewelry obtained from blackmail the same as theft.
“I am going to ask him what other women he met with. It will go better for you if you tell me you were involved in Lady Richford’s blackmail schemes than if I have to learn it from him. ”
My bluff was convincing even to myself. Of course, if Miss Abbott never met with the man then it was all for naught.
Miss Abbott’s shoulders were rigid. She smoothed her hands down her skirts.
Her fingers, adorned with several gold rings, dug into the fabric.
“I was with Susan when she sold a necklace or two. I thought they were her own. She wanted money her husband didn’t know about, but she was scared to deal with a man of that sort on her own.
She was my friend. Of course, I stood by her when she met with him. ”
“How noble of you.”
Miss Abbott frowned at the sarcasm in his voice.
Surely, she couldn’t truly believe he would fall for her nonsense.
He picked up a carved ivory statue of an elephant. Two small black stones formed its eyes. “Blackmail seems to have done well by you. A nice apartment. Pretty artwork. Days spent attending demonstrations instead of in labor.”
“I have blackmailed no one.”
“Did you let Lady Richford do all the odious work? Is that what caused the disagreement between you two?” Frederick ran his thumb over the elephant’s trunk. “There are many ways partners in crime can become enemies.”
“There was no disagreement.” She stood, her hands clenched by her sides.
“Do you know how rare it is to find a kindred spirit? If I were so criminally inclined as you seem to think, to find another woman who matched my machinations step for step? Such a friend I would treasure. I would never hurt Susan.”
“If she was such a good friend, you should want the one who killed her caught. You should have protected her against those who threatened her.” It was an abominable thing to say, but killers weren’t caught with kind words.
But Miss Abbott didn’t seem to take offense. Her shoulders lowered. “You mean Mrs. Lynton. I knew she hated Susan. Susan knew how much Mrs. Lynton hated her. We never believed she would make good on her threats, however, never believed she would turn violent.”
Frederick stilled. It always came back to Mrs. Lynton. “What threats did she make?”
Miss Abbott cocked her head, her forehead creasing. “The letter. Susan kept it in the secret compartment in her writing desk along with some other personal items. I thought you must have seen it if you were asking.”
“You saw a letter from Mrs. Lynton making a threat against the viscountess?”
She nodded. “Susan showed it to me. We laughed about it. Of all the people Susan had…crossed, she hadn’t counted Mrs. Lynton amongst them. It had been a little snub, over a decade ago. So many people hated Susan for much worse.”
“Hate is a strong word.”
She shrugged. “Susan didn’t care what others thought about her. It was the quality of hers that I loved most. Now”—she said, moving toward a coat rack by her front door—“I must show you out. I don’t want to be late.”
Frederick inhaled sharply. Every damned arrow seemed to point just where he didn’t want.
He stomped out of the apartment and out of the lodging house.
Temple Church was only a block away, and he turned toward it as he pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time.
He climbed into his carriage. He really did need to make an appearance at the office.
And this way his words to Lady Mary weren’t truly a lie.
The office was unusually empty, just two other agents hunched over their desks, the door to Sir John’s office closed, the window above it dark.
Good. He wasn’t in the mood to deliver another progress report.
The progress he’d made he didn’t want to report.
He hadn’t told the magistrate that Mrs. Lynton was his prime suspect, and he didn’t want to until absolutely necessary.
He would need to ask Lord Richford if he could search his wife’s desk again. What he found there could be another nail in Mrs. Lynton’s coffin, but perhaps something he found would lead him in a different direction. An easier direction. One that wouldn’t crush the woman he was coming to love.
He’d barely dropped his arse into his chair, however, before it became necessary.
“Oy. Rollins!” Simmons poked his head into the office. “I looked at that letter you brought.”
Frederick waved him in, dread filling his gut. “What have you got?”
The agent sauntered to his desk. “Preliminary studies show the author to have a fretful nature, clearly in high emotion at the time of writing. The Swiss physiognomist Lavater thinks that if the tail on an—”
“I can read a person’s character on my own, Simmons.” He planted his palms on his desk. “I wanted to know your opinion from your other area of study. Please, no lectures from the Swiss or French or Italians.”
Simmons slapped the letter Frederick had taken from Mrs. Lynton’s house on his desk and more gingerly placed the scrap of paper from Bannister’s apartment. He sniffed before giving Frederick a broad smile. “They’re a match.”