Chapter 8 #2
“I’m going to need a handwriting sample from you, Mr. Dalton,” he said. He’d told Warnock and Price to get handwriting samples from everyone on staff as well.
The man scowled. “Whatever for?”
“I just require it,” Jasper replied, his patience thinning. He would not breathe a word about the note until he matched up the writing and knew who had sent it to Helen. Her maid, who might have delivered it to her, might also be aware of the sender’s identity.
Anthony grumbled but took his drink to a small writing desk. Using a fountain pen, he scratched something onto a piece of stationary. He slammed the pen down and stalked to Jasper, thrusting the paper at him. “Here. Now, unless you have anything more to ask—”
“I do, thank you,” Jasper cut in, taking a cursory glance at what appeared to be a sloppily done signature. He couldn’t be sure until he compared the writing side to side, but he didn’t think it was a match.
“Were you present in Helen’s life when her younger brother, Theodore, died?”
The way he jerked his chin back in surprise, it was evident this wasn’t a question Anthony had anticipated. “That was what...ten or so years ago?”
“Twelve.”
He scoffed. “I met and married Helen eight years ago. So, the answer is no, Inspector. What has that to do with my wife’s murder?”
The remote way Anthony spoke of Helen’s demise without so much as a quivering chin or a catch in his throat continued to bother Jasper. He seemed to accept it far too quickly and willingly.
“Eight years,” Jasper said. “Did you never want children?”
It was a prying question, however, asking this type of question was what his job was all about. Anthony’s cool glare went even more wintry.
“We were never blessed. Is that all, Inspector? I need to inform the viscount.”
“I will be doing that, Mr. Dalton, though you are welcome to come with me,” Jasper said, hoping Warnock and Price were making good time interviewing the servants.
The constable and sergeant had instructions to meet Jasper at Cowper Hall once they’d concluded their inquiries and to bring Helen’s maid along with them for additional questioning.
Jasper crossed his arms. “I will wait while you dress.” He would not let Anthony Dalton out of his sight just yet.
While the occupant of Field’s End Manor showed a distinct lack of shock and sorrow at the news of Helen’s death, those under Cowper Hall’s roof were appropriately horrified.
Jasper and Anthony arrived past midnight to an utterly dark manor.
They’d taken Anthony’s curricle, allowing Jasper time to speak with the stable hand, who confirmed his employer had arrived home just past ten o’clock the previous evening.
The stable hand had cleaned the mud spattered over the whole of the conveyance and had groomed the horse, which had been equally muddy.
The curricle and horse had not left the stables since.
With that assurance, it was looking as if Anthony Dalton had not gone into London during the night after all. It would have been too easy, Jasper supposed, to find Helen’s husband responsible for her murder. But he still did not trust Anthony and would not rule him out completely.
It took at least a quarter hour for the viscount’s butler, Decamp, to awaken the household and for them to make their way to the main drawing room. Jasper and Anthony spent the time in silence, with Anthony pouring and downing two single malts by the time Viscount Cowper entered the room.
“What is the meaning of this, Inspector?” Lord Cowper asked, his expression twisted not into a look of loathing but into one of fear.
Jasper delivered the somber news, and the older man staggered to an armchair.
He put his forehead in his palm and stayed that way.
Helen’s sister, Nadia, appeared then and, seeing her grandfather in distress, rushed to his side.
When he mumbled to her what had happened, she cried out and burst into tears.
Their grief seemed genuine to Jasper, and he had seen plenty of crocodile tears in his time.
The room devolved into chaos over the next few minutes, as Frederick and his wife arrived and learned of Helen’s fate while the shocked butler ordered a tearful maid to wake the housekeeper and return with strong tea and brandy.
Their reactions were unfolding as expected, so Jasper stood back and observed.
Anthony continued to drink as he stayed detached from the commotion.
Frederick’s wife, Millicent, remained dry-eyed as she calmly patted Nadia’s shoulder.
Frederick sat hunched on the sofa, appearing a little green and holding a clenched fist to his mouth.
Once quiet had descended upon the room again, Jasper began.
“I will need to know all of your movements from after dinner last night through this morning,” he said. “My constable and sergeant will be here shortly to speak to your staff as well.”
Millicent lowered her hand from Nadia’s shoulder. “Our movements? You cannot think that any of us had something to do with Helen’s death?”
“She was murdered, Mrs. Cowper, and as I have not yet determined who killed her, everyone associated with Helen is to be questioned.”
Millicent shifted uneasily on the sofa, while Nadia nodded her head readily, her eyes glistening with tears.
“Yes, fine, Inspector. After dinner, I…I went to the small sitting room with Helen, Millie, and Miss Spencer. We didn’t stay there long. I went to my room afterward and then to bed. This morning, when I joined Grandfather for breakfast, he told me Helen had…gone.” She choked out the last word.
Jasper would need to verify her claim against whatever Warnock and Price learned from Nadia’s maid, but he wasn’t suspicious of her.
“You already have my alibi,” Anthony said as he stared through a window, his back to the others in the room.
Millicent folded her hands in the lap of her thick nightrobe, the collar high and modest. “I left the sitting room before the others and went to my room. My maid drew a bath, and afterward I read a novel for a little while in bed before falling asleep.”
Jasper looked to her husband, the Cowper heir. He knew for a fact that Frederick had been in the billiards room around ten thirty, as that was when Jasper had been leaving Leo’s room and overheard his terse admonishment of the young maid. “And you, Mr. Cowper?”
He wanted to test him, see if Frederick would tell the truth.
“I think it was just after ten when I left the billiards room. I went to bed and stayed there all night,” Frederick answered, his brow taut, his demeanor distracted.
“Can you verify this, Mrs. Cowper?” Jasper asked. He received a subtle scoff and a look of disdain from her.
“Those of our class keep separate rooms, Inspector,” she said, making it clear anything else would have been beneath her.
“I see,” he said and recalled, belatedly, the penchant upper-class couples had to keep separate bedrooms, often attached by a connecting door or dressing room.
Jasper could not see the draw of that; if he had a wife, he’d want her in bed with him every night.
The errant thought gave rise to another vision of Leo that had no place being in his mind right at that moment.
“Do you have a valet, Mr. Cowper?” If so, the servant could mark when Frederick was in his room.
“Yes, Winters. But I gave him the night off, so I didn’t see him until morning.”
“What time in the morning?” Jasper pressed.
“Eight, I believe.”
He would check with Winters to verify Frederick’s recollection, though Jasper recalled seeing the heir entering the breakfast room at around eight thirty that morning.
The only person remaining to give his whereabouts over the course of the previous night was the viscount. He had not moved from his armchair, nor lifted his head from his hand. His tall, thin frame looked to be sagging in on itself in utter defeat.
Frederick stood up from his cushion on the sofa. “What about that Miss Spencer woman? She was here last night. Shouldn’t she be questioned as well?”
Jasper hitched his chin. “She has been.” He would not share more than that with them.
“Now, it is known that Helen left here sometime during the night after eleven o’clock.
She could not have taken a train to Paddington Station, as the tracks were closed, so she would have required a conveyance.
Were any missing this morning from the stables here? ”
The viscount lifted his head from his hand and spoke with a firmness that straightened every back in the room. “Decamp. Tell him.”
The butler cleared his throat. “A pony phaeton and one of the horses, Inspector. They were found to be absent from the stables this morning.”
“Did Mrs. Dalton have experience taking the phaeton out?” The small, sporty conveyance was made for a single passenger, or two passengers squeezed close together.
Everyone—excepting the viscount, whose face was once again buried in his palm—glanced skeptically at one another, as if to seek out the person who might know the answer.
“My wife did not drive often,” came Anthony’s reply after a pause. “But a phaeton is not so difficult to maneuver.”
Perhaps not, but Jasper still wondered if the person who had beckoned Helen to meet them at their “spot” had also driven to London with her.
There had been no horse and phaeton parked along Craven Hill earlier that night when he and Leo had found Helen’s body, and it appeared the phaeton and horse were still missing.
“I’ll have my sergeant take down a description of the horse and phaeton.
The Met can launch a search for them in London,” he said.
“I will also need handwriting samples from all of you.” The request elicited the same quizzing looks from them as Anthony had given him earlier.
Before anyone could object, Jasper raised his hand to stave off any dissension.
“I am requesting samples from everyone here, including the staff. Just sign your name, or whatever you like, on a piece of paper.”