Chapter 10 #3
Mr. Pierce rubbed the back of his head so vigorously I worried he’d make his hair fall out. “I’ve taken some time off. What of it?”
“I’m just wondering why you haven’t fixed the light.”
Mr. Pierce’s shrug seemed to take considerable effort, as if his shoulders weighed heavily on him.
All of a sudden, a well of sympathy rose within me. Although I was very aware that this man planned to sabotage an event at the hotel in two days, I felt sorry for him.
“I’m going to make you a cup of tea,” I said. “You’re going to find a ladder to fix that light and have a chat with Mr. Armitage.” I gave Harry a speaking look. Hopefully he understood I wanted him to talk Mr. Pierce out of his plan, as well as discover how much he knew about electricity.
I entered the kitchen at the end of the short hall with a hand over my nose to block the smell of rotting food.
It quickly became clear there was no point making tea when there were dirty dishes piled up.
Much like Duncan Hamlin, Mr. Pierce’s grief had stripped him of his will to maintain hygienic standards.
I warmed up a pot of water on the range then poured it into the trough. With a bar of carbolic soap and a brush, I set to work scrubbing at the dishes, leaving them to dry on the bench on a clean cloth I found in a drawer.
I’d barely begun when Mr. Pierce entered the kitchen and sat down on a chair at the table with a heavy sigh. He drew on his cigarette and stared directly ahead. Harry was nowhere in sight.
“Mr. Pierce?” I asked. “Have you fixed the light?”
He waved the cigarette in the direction of the hall. “He’s doing it.”
The entire point had been to get him to do it so we could tell if he had knowledge of electricity or not. I peered down the hall to see Harry on the ladder.
“Do you have any food in the house?” I asked. “Any fresh food?”
He waved the cigarette at a wall. “The neighbor brings me things from time to time.” He plugged the cigarette into his mouth and sucked deeply.
I continued cleaning the dishes. “Last time we were here, you said you were going to ruin the Bella Vita Company’s event at the Mayfair Hotel. I hope you’ve changed your mind.”
“Of course I haven’t! That quack takes advantage of the vulnerable. He needs to be exposed. I’m going to expose him. I’ll punish him for murdering my wife!”
“He didn’t murder your wife,” Harry said from the doorway.
Mr. Pierce rested his elbows on his knees and lowered his head.
“The hall light is fixed,” Harry said, joining me at the trough.
“The empty bottles have been removed to the courtyard and the rubbish taken out.” He handed me a dirty teacup and leaned closer.
“Sir Ronald would have a fit if he saw you doing menial work,” he said, keeping his voice low so Mr. Pierce couldn’t hear.
“Then it’s fortunate he doesn’t see me help Harmony tidy my suite every morning.” I swapped a washed plate for the dirty cup. “You are aware that I wasn’t brought up with a silver spoon in my mouth, aren’t you? I had to cook and clean when I lived with my grandparents.”
“I know.” The mischievous look in his eye had me watching him carefully.
“Go on. Out with it, Harry. Tell me I’ve turned into a duchess.”
The mischievous look turned to mock innocence. “I was merely going to praise you for settling so well into your new life that no one would guess you’d ever set foot in a kitchen before.”
I flicked water in his direction, but only a few drops landed on his sleeve. “And what evidence are you basing such an opinion on?”
He showed me the plate that still had something encrusted on it.
“You distracted me,” I said pertly.
“Forgive me, Duchess, but I won’t apologize for being your distraction.”
I laughed.
It wasn’t until Mr. Pierce got up and walked out of the kitchen that Harry and I realized how insensitive our playfulness had been.
We hurriedly finished the dishes, made Mr. Pierce a cup of tea, and bade him good day without even giving him a warning to stay away from Mr. Lombardi and the Mayfair Hotel.
I’d enjoyed the Saturday Pops at St. James’s Hall three times since moving to London.
Flossy was fond of the music played at the popular concerts, and even more fond of escaping her parents’ suffocating scrutiny.
The Saturday afternoon concerts held a short stroll from the hotel were an acceptable occasion for me to act as her chaperone, and it gave us both something to do in between our other social engagements and my investigations.
Harry and I accessed the building via the side entrance used by staff and musicians.
From somewhere deep inside came the whine of violins tuning up, followed by the lower hum of the cello.
We made our way toward it, only to be stopped by a middle-aged man with a pencil tucked behind his ear and shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows.
“May I help you?” he asked.
Harry introduced us as private detectives. “We’re making inquiries about Mr. Pierce, an employee here.”
“Former employee,” the man said. “He was dismissed for drunkenness.”
Dismissed! That must have been quite a blow coming after his wife’s death. No wonder he was struggling.
“I see,” Harry said. “Is it true he was the caretaker?”
“He was. I’m his replacement. I only started yesterday, so I’m afraid I can’t help you if you want to know what he was like. Do you want me to find someone who did know him?”
“That’s not necessary. Can you tell us what Mr. Pierce’s job entailed?”
“That I can do. The caretaker keeps this whole place operating smoothly.” He tapped his chest. “Without me, it would fall apart. I make sure everything’s in working order, from the audience’s seats to the stage, and everything backstage.”
“Does that involve lighting?”
“It does.”
“Do you get electricians in to fix the lights, or do you do it?”
“I do it all.”
“So you have some knowledge of how electricity works.”
The caretaker frowned. “I know how not to electrocute myself, if that’s what you mean.”
Harry thanked him and we left.
“I have renewed sympathy for Pierce,” I said. “I’m glad I washed his dishes.”
Harry agreed. “Dismissing him when he’s already suffering from the loss of his wife isn’t fair. It’s no wonder he’s angry with the world.”
“You have more knowledge about electricity than I do,” I went on. “Do you think Mr. Pierce’s work as a caretaker means he would know how to tamper with the Electro Therapy Machine?”
“If he knew how not to electrocute himself, then he also knows how to tamper with the wiring to ensure it did electrocute when switched on.”
Considering he was angry at the world, Mr. Pierce might not care who the device electrocuted. Also, he couldn’t have known that the first patient to use it had a heart problem. He may not have intended to kill anyone, merely ruin Dr. Iverson.
Whether Isabel Kempsey’s death was accidental or intentional, Mr. Pierce must be considered a suspect.