Chapter 14 #2
“I ain’t stupid. I knew how it would look.
Anyway, I couldn’t help your case because I didn’t see anything, did I?
As I was saying, after I explained to the landlady that I was Blackheart’s grandson and needed to discuss the treasure with Bradbury, she refused to let me in.
She said he was busy and I didn’t have an appointment.
I argued with her, but she kept refusing.
That’s when she mentioned she knew Bradbury was going to write something explosive and scandalous in the biography about Arkwright, and it was probably that the treasure didn’t exist. She thought that would make me give up and stop bothering Bradbury.
But I reckon she’s wrong about what he was going to include in the book.
I reckon he was going to tell the world that Blackheart had a son and Arkwright deliberately left that out when he told my grandfather’s story all those years ago. ”
The clock in the tower above the dock offices clanged the hour. Mr. Watson urged the horse forward. “I have to go.”
Harry moved to block him. “What time did you speak to Mrs. Jeffry?”
Mr. Watson removed his cap and scratched his head. “I left here as soon as my lunch break started at midday, and it’s a fair journey on the omnibus, so I reckon half past or a bit after.”
That aligned with the time frame she’d told us.
She said she’d come home around twelve-thirty.
What she hadn’t mentioned was entering Mr. Bradbury’s study where she’d read the page in his typewriter.
She’d told us she presumed he wasn’t at home, but if she’d read the words on the piece of paper in the typewriter then she must have also seen him.
Did she kill him? She must have, otherwise why omit telling us about Bill Watson’s visit?
“I want to meet Arkwright,” Mr. Watson said. “You set that up, Miss Fox. Please,” he added when Harry glared at him.
“I’ll speak to him about it today,” I assured him.
Mr. Watson touched the brim of his cap then urged the horse to move on.
Harry and I left, too, neither of us speaking until we’d left the docks behind.
“Mrs. Jeffry lied,” I said.
“So it would seem.” He increased his pace. “The omnibus is coming. Let’s tell her what Watson told us and see how she responds.”
* * *
Mrs. Jeffry was horrified at the suggestion she’d lied. “I have never spoken to anyone claiming to be the pirate’s grandson. If anyone is lying, it’s him. I don’t know why. Unless he is the killer.”
“You believe the tall man is the killer,” Harry reminded her. “The one you let in at twelve forty-five.”
“Perhaps they were working together. I don’t know. It’s all rather confusing.” She squeezed the bridge of her nose with fingers covered in flour.
“Is it confusing because you’re trying to keep your story straight in your head?” I asked.
She lowered her hand and crossed her arms. “If he’s telling the truth, why wait until now to claim we spoke?”
“He was worried about what we’d think,” Harry said. “He didn’t want suspicion falling onto him.”
“There, you see? Very suspicious behavior, if you ask me. You caught him out by reading those words in the newspaper and he had to think of something on the spot to explain how he knew what Mr. Bradbury had written in a way that didn’t incriminate him.
I did not see any document in Mr. Bradbury’s typewriter that day because I didn’t enter his study.
Now, if you don’t mind, Mr. Symond is approaching, and I haven’t finished making his lunch.
He won’t have long today before he has to continue his calls, so I need to get on with it. ”
We turned to see her lodger walking along the pavement toward us.
“What brings you both here?” he asked after we greeted him.
“We had a question for Mrs. Jeffry,” Harry said.
The landlady humphed.
“Is everything all right, Mrs. Jeffry?” Mr. Symond asked.
She opened the door wider for him to enter. “It was a misunderstanding that has been sorted out now. They were just leaving.”
Harry touched the brim of his hat. “Thank you for your time. We’re sorry to have bothered you.”
She let Mr. Symond in and closed the door on us. As we walked off, I asked Harry what he thought. “Either she or Bill Watson lied to us. Which one do you believe?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But one of them saw that page in the typewriter, which means one of them is probably the killer.”
“But why? Neither has a motive, as far as I can see. Mrs. Jeffry got along well with her lodger, and Watson needed Bradbury alive to tell the world that he was Blackheart’s grandson.”
“Unless Bradbury wasn’t going to tell him that,” Harry pointed out. “Perhaps Watson discovered that Bradbury had learned Blackheart didn’t have any children. Then he told Watson he knew he was a fraud.”
“Louis Arkwright claims he is,” I pointed out
Proving whether Bill Watson or Mrs. Jeffry had lied wasn’t going to be easy. Indeed, I couldn’t think of how to go about it. I asked Harry for suggestions, but his mind was elsewhere.
“What if Watson’s right,” he said. “What if Arkwright is lying and Blackheart did tell him he had a child all those years ago.”
“So Arkwright could keep the treasure to himself? It’s possible. Indeed, it’s possible he found the treasure long ago and spent it. He has led a full life at great expense. What if the money didn’t just come from his royalties? We’ll speak to him,” I said before Harry could respond.
Harry smiled ruefully. “I’ve been wanting to meet him and get his measure.”
“Good luck. I’ve met him twice and I’m still not sure what to make of him.” I looped my arm through his. “Your insight will be invaluable, Harry. Just don’t let my family see you with me on the fourth floor of the hotel.”
“I’ll use the lane entrance and meet you at his room.”
* * *
Mr. Hobart was not his usual unflappable self when I arrived at the Mayfair. He stood alone in the foyer, but instead of smiling at guests as they passed, his attention was on the front door. He strode up to me the moment I entered.
“You look worried, Mr. Hobart,” I said. “Is it the journalists? I see the two who were in here this morning have left.”
“They were evicted, but I can’t do anything about the ones outside. The police say they’re not causing a disturbance and have every right to be there.”
“I did notice some outside, including a photographer. I’m sure they’ll grow bored sooner or later.”
“Until they do, our reputation as a discreet hotel suffers. The canceled dinner will likely be the first of many cancelations. Several guests have already complained.” He nodded and smiled at a couple as they arrived. Once they turned away, his smile vanished. “It’s most frustrating.”
“The special dinner isn’t back on?” I asked.
“No. Should it be?”
I sighed. It seemed Harry’s demand to Mr. Mathers hadn’t worked. “Hopefully the press will give up soon.”
“The story of Arkwright and the pirate treasure is proving to be too enticing. They won’t leave until he does, one way or another.”
“Good lord, Mr. Hobart, that’s a bit grim.”
“Mr. Arkwright deserves to spend his final months in peace, not hounded by the press.” He straightened his back and squared his shoulders. “I’m going to fix this, even if I have to call in every favor I’m owed.”
He strode away with determined steps. I wasn’t sure Mr. Arkwright deserved such consideration. For one thing, I wasn’t entirely sure his death was imminent. For another, I didn’t know if he’d lied about Blackheart having a child or, for that matter, a treasure.
I headed upstairs only to find Harry had beaten me.
He stood with one shoulder resting against the wall outside Mr. Arkwright’s room, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Sister Meersham.
It was the sort of casual pose he employed when speaking to a friend, or someone he was trying to disarm with his charm.
“Ah, Cleo, perfect timing,” he said, straightening.
His polite smile was for the nurse’s benefit, not mine.
“Sister Meersham was just returning to the suite when I arrived. I told her I was waiting for you and we struck up a conversation about Mr. Arkwright. I asked her what he’s like as an employer. ”
I smiled politely at Sister Meersham, too. Harry had been right to engage her in conversation about Mr. Arkwright. She spent all day with him, and must have an opinion about his character.
“As I told Mr. Armitage, Mr. Arkwright has been very good to me,” Sister Meersham said.
“How long have you worked for him?” I asked.
“Six months.”
“Sister Meersham was just telling me that he tends to bend the truth a little,” Harry said.
“He’s not a liar,” Sister Meersham clarified, her tone prim. “He just sometimes skirts the truth, or omits it altogether. For example, when you mentioned poor Mr. Bradbury died after leaving here on Tuesday, Miss Fox, Mr. Arkwright didn’t tell you they’d argued beforehand.”
“Argued about what?”
“I’m not sure. I just heard their cross voices coming from the bedchamber. The only words I caught were from Mr. Bradbury, right before he stormed out. He said something like ‘I’m done here.’”
“Why are you telling me this now? Why not tell me on the other occasions we’ve spoken?”
She clasped her hands in front of her and peered down her nose at me. “You didn’t ask me for an assessment of Mr. Arkwright’s character. Mr. Armitage did.”
She had a point.
“May we see him now?” Harry asked.
“I’ll check to see if he’s awake. Sometimes he can be a little disoriented if he’s woken abruptly, so it may take a few moments. Please come in and wait in the sitting room.”
“One more question before we go in,” I said as she reached for the door handle. “Mr. Arkwright told me you were with him on Tuesday.”
“That’s right. I may not have always been in his bedchamber, but I was here all day. I would notice him leave the suite, if that’s what you meant.”
I smiled politely again, then followed her inside.