Chapter 2 Crossed in Love #3
“That is what I hoped she would be.” I settled back in my seat.
“Next month, I shall stay in Wiltshire at the estate of my friend Mr. Patrick Hayward.” My sister had met Hayward enough times in the past to have grown comfortable in his company.
“I met his wife, Mrs. Hayward, in town last year, and she is quite amiable. And they have a daughter who is now three years old. Would you like to go?”
A knot arose between her brows. “But…I do not know Mrs. Hayward. And if I went, I should be expected to spend most of my time with her.”
“I am certain you will like her, and Mrs. Annesley would come as well.”
Her nose crinkled. “How long will you stay?”
“My plans are not yet set. Perhaps six weeks.”
“I should rather not face any new acquaintances just yet. As it is, I am still growing accustomed to Mrs. Annesley.”
My jaw tightened as I resisted the impulse to frown.
Should I try harder to convince her? The concept of leaving her alone, even with a companion, rankled me.
Yet, what if I cajoled her to go and caused her to be anxious and unhappy?
“A shorter stay may suit you better. You and Mrs. Annesley could join me there later in the month.”
“Perhaps.” Georgiana rubbed the crook of her neck. “I shall give the idea thought.”
“Very well.” Her tense demeanour did not bode well for her agreement, but I should abide by her wishes.
Wednesday, 4 September
Darcy House
Darcy
To my surprise, Mr. Notley called again this afternoon. Despite his having suggested he might return, I had no notion of what help I could provide him. I poured brandy for myself and the investigator, and we settled in a pair of chairs by the fireplace.
He drummed a pencil upon his thigh. “Since we last spoke, I have determined that ‘Mr. King’ is an alias, and I have attempted to discover the man’s true identity.”
“How do you know Mr. King is not his real name?”
“We could not find any lodgings for Mr. King in town, and we made inquiries in Norwich to find his estate to no avail. I expect his true home is elsewhere.” Mr. Notley leafed to a page in his notebook.
“Mrs. Cooper’s servants have described him as a man of average looks, a medium build, and a pleasant smile.
He is in his fifth or sixth decade, has a cleft in his chin, and wears a white wig. ”
“I see. Have you any clues that might lead you to the man?”
“Yes, and that brings me to why I am here today. The victim’s butler recounted an incident he found to be peculiar.
Mr. King removed a handkerchief from his pocket, and a piece of paper fluttered to the floor outside Mr. King’s notice.
The butler retrieved it and glanced at the writing—a purchase receipt from a cobbler in Salisbury.
He offered the receipt to Mr. King, who snatched it back as though retrieving an item of high value. ”
Mr. Notley raised the brandy to his lips for a small sip. “When I questioned Mrs. Cooper’s coachmen, one of them recalled that Mr. King’s driver had grumbled of his distaste for London and his desire to return to Wiltshire.”
I brushed my knuckles over my mouth. “Do you suppose the man calling himself Mr. King might reside near Salisbury?”
“That is my suspicion.”
“Have you any theories as to why he may have killed Mrs. Cooper?”
“No, but the fact that he used an assumed name leads me to suppose he had an ulterior motive from the beginning. By all accounts, Mrs. Cooper thought well of Mr. King. If they had a disagreement that final night, the servants, most of whom had retired below stairs, did not hear them.”
“Will you go to Salisbury and attempt to find your suspect?”
“No, our office has taken this investigation as far as is practical. Mrs. Cooper was not an especially well-liked person, and her heirs are not inclined to provide the funds for our further investigation of the crime. Unless someone comes forward with new information, we shall direct our energies elsewhere.”
“That seems a bit harsh. Popular or not, she is dead, and a killer is walking around free.”
“Yes, but our time must be devoted to more pressing crimes. For instance, yesterday, a sixteen-year-old shop girl was bludgeoned and killed in the course of a robbery. My focus now is upon finding that perpetrator.”
“I understand, but whoever killed Mrs. Cooper may pose a threat to others.”
“Yes, that is true.” He leaned closer, giving me a wry smile.
“And it is understandable that you may take a particular interest in finding this murderer, since the crime occurred so near to your home. Therefore, in the interest of furthering justice, I suggest that while you are in Wiltshire, you attempt to find the man who presented himself as Mr. King. Any assistance on your part would be most welcome.”
So, he had come to solicit my help. “What would you have me do?”
Mr. Notley took a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket and handed it to me. “I took the liberty of jotting down the relevant facts in the case for you.”
I glanced at the writing, which included descriptions of ‘Mr. King’ as well as the missing vase and necklace.
“All I ask is that you pay close attention to the local denizens, in particular members of the gentry, and make a few discreet inquiries. If you happen upon any men between the ages of forty and sixty with cleft chins who fit the description of the suspect and spent most of August in town, send me their names.”
“Am I to seek a man who wears a white wig?”
“Not necessarily. The suspect may have worn the peruke to disguise his usual appearance.”
“Very well, if I encounter any men who meet that profile, I shall inform you.”
“Thank you, I appreciate any information you may provide.” With a final quaff of the brandy, he stood and took his leave.
I stared at the notes Mr. Notley had provided, my chest muscles cramping. Blast it, I had agreed to spy on Hayward’s friends and neighbours. No doubt I should be wasting my time; I had scant probability of identifying Mrs. Cooper’s murderer.