Chapter Eleven
Later that day
Portman Square
Marylebone, London
Gabriel dismissed his valet then fussed with the folds and knot of the cravat himself.
Following the late-night interviews after the duke’s body was discovered, he and Mary had come home.
They promptly retired—again—for the night, and neither of them rose until the noon hour.
Miss Alexander had taken the children on an outing where they would meet with a few other governesses and their charges, which gave him a stretch of time where he wasn’t immediately needed.
When Mary bustled into the dressing room from the corridor, he grinned. “Feeling refreshed?”
“I don’t know about that, for I wouldn’t say no to another twelve hours of sleep, but I am ready to start the day and continue our investigations.” She shook out the skirts of a gown in a vibrant red hue. “Do you know where we’ll start?”
Damn, but he adored seeing her in that color. Perhaps it harkened back to the first Christmastide season when he’d met her at that house party his brother had thrown where they solved their first case together. She’d worn a similar gown, and he was infatuated ever since.
“I do not, but after we break our fast and discuss a few things, perhaps I’ll have a greater vision.”
“Well, we should interview the Earl of Edgington again, especially since he argued with his father shortly before the duke’s death.
” A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth as she came toward him.
“I’m almost tempted to ask you to leave off with investigating Boddingford’s murder and instead concentrate on Mr. Corbett’s. ”
“Why is that?” But he knew. Of course he did. They were always thinking the same thing.
She shrugged. “I can’t help but feel that having the duke dead is a relief for many of those who knew him. Perhaps I’m jaded or biased, but far too often, powerful men with titles are also the most unsavory representatives of humanity. Do we truly need know who killed him?”
Shock slammed through his chest as he tugged her into his arms. “Murder is wrong, no matter who did it or why, or what sort of person the victim was.” Did he believe that, though?
Since meeting Mary, his view on that had changed slightly.
Where before, he’d seen every case through a black and white lens of sort, now he tended to look at those cases through shades of gray.
There were no set rules and no more preconceived prejudices, because there was always a story behind everything.
Did that make killing right? No, of course not, but sometimes, those explanations made the motivation more understandable, and then punishment could be taken from there.
Mary’s frown deepened. “I’m not certain I agree with you on that.” She huffed. “Is murder a crime? Perhaps. Is it still a crime when it happens to a horrid person? Perhaps, but none of that is for me to judge.”
“The longer I go through life, and the more experiences I move through, I’m inclined to believe that everything has many facets.
Perhaps we aren’t meant to understand.” He peered down into her eyes.
“Our purpose is to solve the crime. Judges and authorities can mete out punishments, if any. We can’t let that part of it vex us. ”
“I suppose you’re right, but it seems so cold, even clinical at times.”
“Be that as it may, people make their own choices. Sometimes, they come with consequences, and that is not our business.” Then he lowered his head and kissed her, gently and slowly, because he could.
Sweet Mary returned his kisses, and for the next few moments, they communicated without words.
Eventually, she pulled away. “You are too charming for your own good, Bright.” After patting his cheek, she left the circle of his arms. “However, we shouldn’t waste any more time, and I’m hungry, besides. ”
“So am I.” And he was also ready to have this case behind them, for there were so many other things he needed to turn his attention to. “We can talk about the case over luncheon.”
An hour later, he and Mary had done justice to the meal Mrs. White had made.
Then he drew his notebook toward him. “Our list of suspects is long, and let us be honest. Every person we’ve interviewed regarding Mr. Corbett’s murder could have just as easily killed the duke. Do you concur?”
“I do, and it’s quite unfortunate that the duke was hated by so many.”
Gabriel snorted. “It happens when a man is so vile and set in his ways.” When he held up his notebook and cracked it open, something dark and small tumbled out to all onto the table.
“What is that?” she wanted to know.
“It appears to be a black button.” He held it up between his thumb and forefinger for her inspection. “Covered with black serge.” A couple of black threads dangled from tiny scrap of fabric the button still clung to. “I found this on the bed beside the duke’s body and must have forgotten about it.”
Mary narrowed her eyes as she took it from him. “I wonder where this came from.” She examined it then handed it back to him. “The family was already in various degrees of mourning by the time the duke died, so that means everyone is still suspect… including the servants.”
“Right.” He nodded and tucked the button into the back of his notebook. “Perhaps if Boddingford’s family won’t tell us the truth, the servants surely will.”
“It’s as good a lead as any.” With a smile, she rose from the table. “Let me just find a pelisse and bonnet then I’ll be ready to leave.”
Boddingford House
St. James Place
Mayfair, London
The duke’s butler showed him and Mary into the rear parlor, and they’d been waiting for the housekeeper to make an appearance for her interview.
For the past hour, they’d talked to maids, the duke’s valet again, the cook, and a few footmen.
No one had any idea who might wish to kill the duke, yet their expressions told a whole different story.
Probing further didn’t reveal any secrets, and it was most frustrating.
Finally, the housekeeper entered the room in a rustle of black bombazine. A white pinafore-style apron covered a good portion of the dress’ front. Did it feature black buttons? He couldn’t tell, but not from where he stood.
“Welcome. I assume you are the housekeeper for the duke?”
She nodded. With a pleasantly plump form and dark eyes, she was no doubt much sought after as a younger woman. As it was, gray mixed with her black hair beneath a lace-edged mobcap, and it didn’t appear she had a sense of humor nor smiled that often.
“I am Mrs. Benson, yes. How can I help you?”
“Please, sit. I’m Inspector Bright.”
“I know who you are.” A hint of waspishness lingered in her tone as she perched on a chair with delicate legs. “You wish to ask about the duke’s death?”
“I do.” He gestured to Mary. “This is my wife and deductive partner, Mrs. Bright. She’ll be taking notes during the interview.”
“Very well.” The older woman nodded. “What would you like to know? I don’t know how much the others have told you.”
Gabriel snorted. “Not much, to be honest.”
Mrs. Benson flashed a shallow grin. “They are well trained.”
“Be that as it may, someone killed Boddingford, and I’ll wager it was someone in his close circles.
” Gabriel resumed his spot on the low sofa next to Mary.
The faint scent of her violet perfume comforted him.
“Where were you in the early morning hours of last night between one and three when the duke was murdered?”
“In my bed, of course.”
“Do you live in?”
“No.” The housekeeper shook her head. “I rent rooms in a building near the Thames.” She pressed her lips together. “I went home around ten that night. My husband comes by in a gig and we drive back.”
“Did you witness any of the staff acting strangely that evening?”
“Not that I can recall. We all sat down to dinner around eight that evening. Everyone talked about plans concerning the All Hallow’s Night celebrations at the end of the month.”
“At any time, has the staff been angry with Boddingford or wished him dead?”
For the space of a few heartbeats, Mrs. Benson remained silent. Finally, she shook her head. “Not that they’ve said out loud. However, the duke was a hard person. He wasn’t kind. He thought many people were beneath him, over and above servants.”
Mary glanced up. “So then, everyone in the household could have wished him ill.”
“I suppose.”
She jotted a note. “Did you?”
The housekeeper’s eyes narrowed slightly. “As I said, Mrs. Bright, the duke wasn’t a kind man.” Silence followed the statement.
Gabriel frowned. Obviously, the woman would keep her own counsel. “Which members of his family hated him the most?”
Shock went through Mrs. Benson’s expression. “I can’t betray that sort of information.”
He tamped on the urge to snap at her. “Unless they told you things in confidence, you doing the same to me is not akin to being in a confessional, Mrs. Benson. I am investigating a murder—two, in fact—and the more I know, the swifter I can accomplish this.”
“Very well.” The housekeeper nodded. “On one recent occasion, I bore witness to a heated discussion between His Grace and his son.”
One of Gabriel’s eyebrows went up in inquiry. “Edgington?”
“No. The middle second, Viscount Tifton.”
“Oh?” Mary perked up beside him. “When was this?”
Mrs. Benson shrugged. “A week or so ago. They argued over his lifestyle and how he was wasting his wife chasing vices instead finding a woman to settle down with.”
It wasn’t surprising, especially from what he’d already heard from the other interviewees. “That is a recurring conversation with many families. What was different about this one?”
She shifted her gaze to her hands in her lap. “Let’s just say the viscount has particular tastes and isn’t ready to marry yet.”
“Sowing wild oats?” Gabriel wasn’t pleased about that considering the young man was allegedly courting Adelaide.