Chapter 11 #3
Susan shook her head. “No. It was just the five ladies at the table. The two princesses, Alexandra’s two maids of honor, and me. We talked of Miss Dowling’s impending visit, wondering at it.”
“I’ll have to question Captain Montgomery about that afternoon and the evening of the fire.”
“He’s here now, waiting for Alexandra to come downstairs. Shall I ask him to see you?”
“Thank you.”
Five minutes later, the captain appeared. All pretense of geniality was over. His eyes were steely, and his voice clipped. Tennant thought, Here’s the natural man. A nasty piece of work?
“What is it now, Inspector?”
“I have a few questions about your movements.”
“I thought we went over this at Osborne House.”
“About the afternoon of Brigid Dowling’s murder in London. I believe you said you were in town that day. Where in London, Captain?”
“I do not recollect precisely. I seem to recall working at home on correspondence for the prince.”
“And the morning of the fire. You arrived rather quickly.”
“That’s a statement, but I’ll answer your implied question. The prince sent for me.”
“Please account for your movements that night.”
Montgomery’s jaw tightened. “This is no longer amusing, Tennant.”
“I imagine the Dowling sisters would agree. So, the night of the fire, where were you?”
“At my club, all evening. The Army and Navy.”
“Did you see Captain Locock there?”
“Yes, we left together as it happens. Parted at the front door around one.”
“Captain Locock walked to his residence. Did you take a cab?”
“My house is on St. James Square, a few minutes’ walk on foot.”
“Did a servant let you in?”
“I have a latchkey. Make of that what you will, Inspector.”
Tennant hailed a cab outside Marlborough House and got in. He rubbed his sleeve against the hackney’s window and squinted into the mist. I hope the cabbie has a better view.
Had the inspector wasted his time? Montgomery’s answers got him nowhere, and Lady Styles couldn’t supply an alibi for Peter FitzGerald.
Tennant smiled grimly. Sir Lionel will be pleased about that.
He shifted in his seat, exasperated by the state of his aching leg in the foggy weather and by the results of his interviews.
One thing struck him: his questions had made Lady Styles uneasy.
There’s something there, he thought. Something about the afternoon of Lizzy’s death.
Julia’s cab had crawled through the streets, halting at almost every intersection by bobbies waving lanterns. She arrived home just as Inspector Tennant paid off his cab. He opened her door.
“Perfect timing,” Julia said, handing her driver some coins. “But that was a dreadful ride from Whitechapel.”
Inside, Mrs. Ogilvie took Tennant’s coat and hat. “Doctor Lewis is just back,” she said. “He’ll not change for dinner. Just out of his boots and into his smoking jacket.”
“Good. I’ll eat as I am,” Julia said, handing Kate her cape and medical bag. “Come into the library, Richard, and I’ll pour you a drink.”
Julia turned up the oil lamp on the console table and gave Tennant an appraising glance, not liking what she saw. His face was thinner than ever with deeper lines etched his cheeks. He’d labored up the steps behind her, concealing his efforts as best he could.
“You look tired,” she said. “Are you getting enough sleep?”
“Oh, the usual.”
“Hmm … I’m not sure that’s an answer.”
“It’s been a bloody awful day.”
He rarely swore, at least not in front of her. “Tell me about it.”
“I made a man relive his worst memory.” He told her about the former constable at the pub.
“Have you considered …” In for a penny, Julia thought. “It helps to talk about past pain. Bottling it up doesn’t work. Remember, you told me that once.”
“Easier to give advice,” he said lightly. Then he walked to the fire, raised his hands, and rubbed them.
Not ready yet. Julia had shared her most aching memory, the guilt and remorse she felt over Helen’s suicide in medical school.
She’d caught glimpses of Tennant’s pain in his father’s public disgrace, entangled as he was in a financial scandal.
And from Aunt Caroline, she’d heard about a broken romance.
But he had shared little about himself with her.
Julia poured a whisky and carried it to him. “Consider this a doctor’s prescription.” But when he reached for the glass, she set it on the mantel instead. She took his right hand and turned it over.
“The wound has healed,” she said, frowning. “But it’s difficult to know what’s happening inside with the muscles and tendons. Push against my palm with your fingers, one at a time.” He followed her instructions. “Do you feel any weakness?”
When he didn’t answer, Julia looked up. She stood there, holding his hand while he looked at her. Warmth crept past her shoulders and up her neck.
“Nothing to speak of.” A slight smile warmed his eyes.
She felt the color creep into her face, released his hand, and looked away. “Well … that’s good.”
Julia stood awkwardly for a moment before retrieving his glass and passing it to him. Then she retreated to the drinks cabinet to pour herself a sherry, spilling a little onto the foot of the glass.
Mrs. Ogilvie entered the room with a dish of olives. “Doctor Lewis is in the cellar, looking for a special bottle of claret. Is there anything else you need, Doctor Julie?”
“No, I don’t think … Wait, yes. I left a cable for the inspector in my medical bag.”
“I’ll ask Kate to find it.”
After Mrs. Ogilvie left, Tennant said, “A cable? Intriguing. Is that what you want to discuss?”
Julia had initiated a line of inquiry without consulting him, and it had been a contentious issue in the past. She knew she occupied vulnerable ground. She decided to go on the offensive.
Julia set her sherry down and crossed her arms. “Have you ever hired a domestic servant, Richard?”
“No.” He shrugged. “Hannah manages everything in Kent. I supposed you’d say I inherited my London housekeeper. Mrs. Markham came with my grandmother’s house.”
“So, you’ve never interviewed a skivvy or a parlor maid?”
“The housekeepers take care of all that.” He set his glass on the table. “Julia, what is this about?”
“Another reason why the Yard should hire female coppers.”
“Not that, again. For heaven’s sake—”
“Hear me out. There is something odd about an Irish country girl working for the Queen of England and acting as a lady’s maid for Princess Louise.”
“Well, I suppose that may be true.”
“There’s no ‘suppose’ about it, as any woman who hires servants will tell you. The details of Lizzie’s employment may have nothing to do with her tragedy. But the question of how she came to serve Her Majesty needed to be asked. So, I did.”
“Good God.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Please don’t tell me you wrote a letter to the queen’s private secretary.”
“Of course not. I wrote to Lady Styles, who asked Princess Louise, who sent a cable to Princess Alice in Germany, who sent one back.”
Tennant rolled his eyes. “All in the house that Jack built.”
“Or, in this case, Jill.”
“Amusing.”
“Richard, you have a murdered girl whose hiring was unusual, and—”
“Two facts must have a causal link to be relevant. I wake up in the morning, and the sun rises. It has nothing to do with me.”
“But when the sun rises, you wake up. Perhaps because a chink of light came through your window curtains. You must admit that the connection between two singular events warrants investigation.”
Tennant sighed. “I’m running out of rabbit holes, so I might as well explore yours.”
“If it proves to be a treasure hole, I’ll expect some gratitude.”
“Fair enough.” He smiled.
Julia picked up her sherry and sipped it, regarding him over the rim. “You should do it more often, you know.”
“What should the inspector do more often?” Her grandfather closed the library door behind him.
“Smile. It’s good for the insides.”
“As a doctor, I agree. Good evening, Richard.” Dr. Lewis shook Tennant’s hand. “Happy you’re able to join us.”
“Aside from the pleasures of your company and kitchen, Julia promises revelations in the case. In a cable from Germany, no less.”
“Indeed?” Dr. Lewis said. “The investigation has gone far afield.”
“Not exactly, Grandfather. And whether revelations follow … well, we shall see.”
Julia’s maid entered with a cable. “Mrs. Ogilvie said you’re wanting this from your bag.”
“Thank you.” Julia held up the telegram. “Kate is my expert witness. We agree that Lizzie’s employment was unusual.”
Dr. Lewis said, “You were right about her death, Kate.”
“A stopped clock is right twice, but that was murder at any hour,” she said, closing the door behind her.
“Kate is O’Malley’s match at a turn of phrase,” Tennant said. “I’m happy to concede her expertise, but what does an English princess living in Germany know that we don’t know?”
“Lizzie arrived at a difficult time,” Julia said. “Prince Albert had just died, and the royal family was in disarray. Princess Alice was the eldest daughter living at home, so she took charge of the household for her mother.”
Tennant asked, “Would she remember the hiring of a young maid? Seems unlikely.”
“Princess Louise offered to write to Princess Alice to find out. Then, impatient for a reply, Louise sent a cable to her sister. She sent this in return.” Julia passed it to Tennant.
He read it and looked up. “Who is Lady Middlebury, and where do I find her?”
Dr. Lewis stopped with his glass halfway to his lips. “Lady Middlebury?”
“Do you know her, Grandfather?”
“Knew her, yes. But you’re too late. Her death notice appeared in the paper yesterday.”
The following morning, Tennant sat across the desk from the head of Windsor Borough’s police force. At first, Superintendent Eager was reluctant to act on Tennant’s theory.
“Lady Middlebury was an old woman,” Eager said. “The doctor’s verdict was probable heart failure.”
Tennant asked, “Did he perform a postmortem?”
“Well, no, given the lady’s advanced years and the state of her health.”
“Bear with me, Superintendent, while I lay out the links that connect three murders.” When Tennant finished, he said, “I was on the point of interviewing Lady Middlebury when I heard of her sudden death.”
Eager sighed. “Our mayor and his son found the body on Sunday. William Harris and his older boy were riding in Windsor Great Park when they found the lady slumped on a bench.”
“This is Thursday. Where is the body now?”
“On its way to Ireland for burial in a family crypt in Kildare. Yesterday, a service was held at St. George’s Chapel, attended by the queen.”
“When did the body leave Windsor?”
“This morning.” Eager checked his wall clock. “It’s on a train halfway to Bristol by now.”
“I’ll send a telegram to the superintendent there. Then I must speak to the county coroner about a postmortem.”
Eager rang a bell. “His office is in the Guildhall. A constable will escort you.”
“And I need to see the medical report.”
At seven that evening, Inspector Tennant rang the bell at number 17 Finsbury Circus. He had a doctor’s report tucked into his breast pocket.
Mrs. Ogilvie opened the door. “Dinner is in a quarter of an hour. I’ll lay another plate.”
“Thank you, but I ate at the station. Are the doctors in?”
“They’re in the library.” He followed her into the room.
Julia said, “We wondered if it were you.”
“I must see Sir Richard this evening, so I have a cab waiting.”
“You found something?” Dr. Lewis said.
“Yes.” At the end of his narrative, he said, “The magistrate ordered the body’s return to Windsor.” He reached into his breast pocket. “Will you give me your opinions on this report before I see the commissioner?”
The document wasn’t long, and Julia read it in two minutes. “The description of her eyes …” She passed the report to her grandfather. “What does this ‘eye infection’ sound like to you? In the last paragraph.”
He read and returned it to Julia. “Red spots in the whites and on the insides of the lids? Sounds very like ‘Tardieu’s spots’ to me.”
“I agree.”
Tennant said, “Tell me what it means.”
“It means murder, most likely,” Julia said. “I saw a case my first year out of medical school.”
“August Tardieu is France’s leading authority on forensic medicine,” Dr. Lewis said. “He first wrote about this condition nearly ten years ago.”
“It’s the rare English doctor who keeps up with professional developments outside of Britain,” Julia said.
“True enough, my dear. Tardieu identified those spots as a sign of asphyxia. Often the result of strangulation or smothering.”
Julia held up the report. “There’s no mention of marks on her neck. But it’s winter, and they found her outdoors. Perhaps a scarf pressed to her nose and mouth?”
“The magistrate ordered a postmortem for tomorrow,” Tennant said. “I asked if a Yard consultant could be present to assist.”
Dr. Lewis asked, “Have you any private patients tomorrow morning, my dear?” Julia shook her head. “An afternoon in the clinic won’t exhaust this old duffer.”
“Thank you, Grandfather.” Julia kissed him on the forehead.
“My occasional substitutions are hardly taxing.” Dr. Lewis shrugged. “Nurse Clemmie seats me with a cup of tea and does most of the work.”
“They’ve scheduled the postmortem for eleven in the morning,” Tennant said. “And I’ll be surprised if you don’t turn up evidence of murder.”