Chapter 7
When Harmony came to do my hair in the morning, she brought Victor. She didn’t look happy about his presence, however. She scowled at him from the moment they walked in.
“He insisted on speaking to you himself,” she said, arms crossed over her chest.
“I didn’t want the details to get lost in the chain of communication,” he said.
“You think I can’t deliver a message accurately?”
“If you don’t believe me then you must think I insisted because I want to see Miss Fox in her dressing gown.” He shook his head sadly. “It disappoints me that you think that of me, Harmony.”
She adjusted her arms higher, no longer looking so prickly. “Don’t twist my meaning. This is not only irregular, it’s dangerous. If you’re seen coming or going, Miss Fox will get into trouble with her family.”
“I’ll say he delivered my breakfast tray this morning.” I nodded at the empty plate and cups on the table. “Apparently there were no footmen available at the time and he didn’t want it to get cold.”
Harmony clicked her tongue. “You shouldn’t encourage him.”
Victor sat on the sofa without being invited, which only made Harmony’s lips purse tighter.
She frequently sat in my sitting room without being invited, and had taken to sharing my morning pot of tea or coffee, also without being invited.
I liked her for it. I liked Victor for being relaxed around me enough to do it too, although I suspected his reasons had more to do with irritating Harmony than any friendship we’d built.
I suppressed my smile. “What did you want to tell me, Victor?”
He already wore his chef’s whites, even though I knew he didn’t start in the kitchen for some time yet. It seemed he’d wanted to catch me before I left. “I heard from Goliath that you suspect Lord Wrexham of Miss Westwood’s murder.”
“It could be a case of jealousy. I need to question him to learn more. I’m going there today, in fact, to try and get answers from his staff.”
“That’s why I wanted to speak to you. I reckon I know someone who’d be willing to help, for a fee.”
“Of course,” Harmony bit off.
“He’s someone I used to know but haven’t seen in years. About the time I came to work here, he found work in Lord Wrexham’s household as a footman, and we lost touch. When I thought you might like to speak to someone there, I called ‘round first thing.”
“You called on your friend at his place of work after not seeing him for years?” I said. “He must have been happy to see you.”
Victor took a moment to answer. “He was surprised.” He glanced at Harmony but she was studiously not looking at him.
“What did he say?” I asked.
“He couldn’t spare me much time, but he did say he goes for a drink during the hour he has off between five and six. He says if you want to ask him questions, you’ll find him in The Nag’s Head then. His name’s Adams. Thomas Adams.”
“Thank you, Victor. That’s a considerable help. You’ve saved Mr. Armitage and me from blundering about, hoping to find a servant willing to talk.”
“Glad I could help.” He rose. “If you need me to break into Wrexham’s house, you know where to find me.”
“Victor!” Harmony stamped her hands on her hips. “Miss Fox will not be breaking into a lord’s house.”
“Why not? She broke into a lord’s hotel suite.”
That knocked the wind out of her sails. With a flash of her dark eyes, she stormed off into the bedroom.
Victor smiled and saw himself out.
“There’s been a change of plans,” I told Mr. Armitage when he arrived. “Victor has a friend who works for Lord Wrexham. We’re going to meet him later at The Nag’s Head.”
“I know the place,” Mr. Armitage said.
We met in Mr. Hobart’s office to avoid my uncle seeing Mr. Armitage in the foyer. Mr. Hobart was elsewhere but had been fine with me meeting his nephew there.
“Is he the coachman?” he asked.
“Footman.”
“I’d still like to talk to the coachman.”
I agreed it was a good idea. As he had said the day before, coachmen knew their masters’ movements better than anyone. “I’ll go now.”
“I’m coming with you,” he said.
“I thought we decided that I’d speak to the coachman and you’d talk to the maids.”
“I never agreed.”
I swept past him as he held the door open for me. “You did.”
“I’m coming with you to speak to the coachman, and that’s final.”
I didn’t argue the point. For one thing, it fitted nicely with my plan to involve him more in the case. And for another, I would enjoy the company.
I managed to keep up with Mr. Armitage’s long strides as we walked past Green Park and headed for the intersection at Hyde Park Corner. The air was cold but it wasn’t raining. I’d brought an umbrella with me, in case.
“So you’re involving the staff in your sleuthing now?” he asked as we passed Apsley House.
“They insist. In fact, I’m sure they discuss it behind my back. I think they’re a little bored with their day-to-day tasks and investigating adds a little excitement.”
“Mind it doesn’t get as exciting as the last murder investigation.”
“You mean don’t let the murderer drag me into a storeroom and try to kill me?”
We stopped to cross the road and his gaze slid to me. “I’d appreciate not having to rescue you again.”
“You must admit it made the evening more interesting.”
He stared at me, hard.
I spotted a gap between the traffic and stepped onto the road. “Come along, Mr. Armitage, or you’ll get left behind.”
We followed a carriage into the narrow mews behind the grand homes on Wilton Place.
Lined with coach houses and stable blocks, with residences for servants above, it was the invisible artery used by the outdoor staff and tradesmen.
Invisible to the masters and mistresses, that was.
We passed The Nag’s Head, where we’d be meeting Thomas Adams later, and continued along the curved section of the mews as it followed the course of Wilton Place and Wilton Crescent.
A pair of coach house doors opened for the carriage and the coachman maneuvered the vehicle through, but not before the horse had left a steaming deposit behind on the cobbles.
Mr. Armitage asked the stable hand where we could find Lord Wrexham’s coach house and he pointed to the red brick building with the white doors.
I knocked on the side door and a spotty faced lad opened it. “Is the coachman for the Wrexham house in?” I asked.
The lad’s gaze lifted as Mr. Armitage moved up behind me. I didn’t need to see him to know he was there. I could feel his presence. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s ma’am, actually,” I pointed out. “I asked the question.”
He looked a little confused, but opened the door and invited us inside. “Mr. Bull, sir!” he shouted in my ear. “There’s a bloke here to see you. And a woman.”
“I’m in here!”
We followed the bellow into the coach house proper. A man looked up from where he’d been polishing the green door of the brougham. It gleamed to a high shine, even in the dull light of the coach house.
“May we speak to you in private?” I asked.
“What about?” Mr. Bull was a balding fellow with a thick beard and bushy eyebrows. He was rather stout and hunched even after straightening.
“We’ll tell you in private.” I glanced at the stable boy who stood by, listening.
“Off with you, lad,” Mr. Bull said in an Irish accent. “Go check on Rosie.”
“But I already have.”
Mr. Bull’s glare was enough to send the youth off to the adjoining stables. The coachman picked up a cloth from the workbench and wiped his hands. “So what’s this about?”
“We’re investigating the death of Miss Pearl Westwood,” I said.
He stopped wiping his hands. “Do you work for the police?”
“We’re private detectives. A friend of Miss Westwood’s commissioned us to look into her death as he didn’t think she killed herself.”
He resumed wiping his hands, slowly. I could almost see his mind ticking over, putting the pieces together. He certainly knew who Pearl Westwood was, but that didn’t mean anything in itself. She was famous. “And what’s this got to do with me?”
“Lord Wrexham knew her,” I said.
He returned the cloth to the workbench and picked up the lid to the pot of polish. “Did he?”
“You drove him to her funeral yesterday.”
His hands stilled before he continued screwing on the pot lid. “Do you have any questions, miss, or are you here just to point out facts?”
“Did you drive Lord Wrexham somewhere on the afternoon of Monday the fifteenth?”
“I can’t recall.”
“I’m sure you can. It was only four days ago.”
“Nope. Don’t remember.”
Mr. Armitage set down some coins on the bench in Mr. Bull’s line of sight. “Do you remember now?”
Mr. Bull put the pot back on a shelf above the bench and picked up the coins.
He held them out to Mr. Armitage. “Lord Wrexham’s a good master and the pay’s reasonable.
It’s hard to find work like this in the city nowadays, so I won’t do anything to jeopardize my position.
” He dropped the coins in Mr. Armitage’s palm.
“There’s no point asking the lad, either.
He doesn’t know anything.” He turned away. “See yourselves out.”
I led the way back to the street. “Well? What do you think?”
“I think he’s hiding something.”
“So do I. If Lord Wrexham did not leave the house that afternoon, Mr. Bull would have simply said as much.”
Mr. Armitage glanced at the opposite side of the street.
The doors on that side belonged to the rear entrances to the townhouses on Wilton Crescent.
It allowed the indoor servants to quickly pass on instructions to the coach house if a vehicle was needed around the front.
“Perhaps we’ll have better luck with the maids. ”
I felt a little irritated for not getting anywhere with the coachman and wanted to redeem myself by questioning the maids. I decided to leave it to Mr. Armitage as agreed, however.