Chapter 12 #3
He leaned forward in his seat. “A woman who hasn’t been seen for months turns up dead on her husband’s property. Whom would you suspect, Mr. Keeling?”
“I don’t think it’s Lord Ingram.”
“I don’t think it’s him either. I know the man—we’ve been friends for years. But this isn’t looking good for him. If you know of something that might help . . .”
“I don’t know anything that’d help. At least, I can’t think how it would help. I only know something strange.”
“Something odd would be a good place to start.”
“But if I tell you, I’ll get into trouble.”
“I’m sure Lord Ingram will compensate you for that trouble, should it come to that.”
Still Keeling hesitated. “I’m not the only person who’ll get in trouble.”
Treadles was beginning to understand his reluctance.
“If something were to happen to Lord Ingram, his children would go to live with a guardian, and this place will most likely be shuttered until Master Carlisle comes of age. In which case, most of the staff will be let go. Have you thought of that?”
Keeling shrank. “Will that really happen?”
“I’m hoping to prevent that. You like it here?”
“I do.”
“And you would like for things to stay as they are?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me hear what you’re holding back. I promise you won’t regret it. And I promise to protect the other person who is involved in this story from any and all repercussions.”
“That’s a real promise?”
“A real promise.”
“What about—the chief inspector over there?”
“My father was in service. I understand it’s a difficult life,” said the “chief inspector over there.” “I am not here for you or whatever minor infractions you might have committed. I am here to find out what happened to Lady Ingram. That’s it.”
Keeling swallowed. “There is—someone who works in the house. We try to see each other, but it’s not easy. Used to be I snuck into the house. It’s a big house and most of the time, most of the rooms don’t have anyone in them.
“But the last time we met in the house we were almost discovered. She said no more. I was scared witless myself, so I agreed. But then, one day, Finney came to see Mr. Dean, the head gardener.”
“Finney being the kitchen helper who first discovered Lady Ingram?”
“That’s him. There was going to be a dinner in the big house that night and he needed to get into the icehouse.
But the French cook gave him the wrong key.
He was afraid of the French cook, so he came to Mr. Dean to ask for his copy.
Mr. Dean didn’t know Finney—he’d just started that week—so he gave the key to me and I went with Finney to the icehouse and showed him how to chisel out ice.
“Later, I started to think that the icehouse would make for a good place to meet. The outermost chamber didn’t feel any colder than outside.”
“Still pretty uncomfortable in this weather for disrobing,” Fowler pointed out.
Keeler flushed. “We don’t disrobe.”
“Ah,” said Fowler.
“No, I meant, we don’t do anything of the sort. We just want to be alone and talk.”
“What do you talk about?”
“She can paint beautiful miniature portraits from people’s photographs.
And I—” He flushed again. “I write poems. We talk about the day when we can have a small studio. The portraits would be the main draw, of course, but I can write a few lines of verse for each picture, something the clients won’t be able to get anywhere else.
Those would make for one-of-a-kind engagement gifts. ”
Treadles smiled. Most of the time, a revelation such as Keeling’s did not involve aspirations that were almost adorable in their wholesomeness. “I like that plan. Now go on, about the icehouse.”
Keeling relaxed a little. “Day before yesterday, we were supposed to meet there after tea.”
Not a bad time. Keeling’s own work would have finished by then. Assuming that his sweetheart was a housemaid, her work would be behind her, too. And the work in the kitchen would be in full swing, any foodstuffs needed from the icehouse fetched hours ago.
“I always go to the icehouse first, to make sure no one is around. If it’s safe, I tie a handkerchief on the branch of a nearby tree.
But that day, when I tried to unlock the door, my key wouldn’t go in.
It was a bit dark by then, so I tried a few more times before I knelt down to take a good look.
And it wasn’t the same lock that had always been there. ”
Treadles’s heartbeat quickened. “No?”
“No. My uncle was a locksmith—he died when I was fourteen and his widow had to sell the business. But even if I’d never been his apprentice, I’d have known that it was a different lock. Different shape, different weight, different everything.”
“Did you try to open it?”
“No. Once I realized it was different, I got scared that we’d been discovered and this was a warning.
I ran down to the tree. She was just coming then.
I told her that the lock had been changed—that maybe someone knew about us.
We agreed that we shouldn’t meet for some time.
She went back to the house and I went to my room above the mews. ”
“And there to spend a restless night?”
“Well, no, I saw her at supper in the servants’ hall, but we didn’t speak. And then a restless night.”
“What did you think when you learned that Lady Ingram’s body had been found in the icehouse?”
“I was confused. Nobody mentioned a new lock. This morning I got up early, picked the lock of the cabinet where Mr. Dean keeps his keys, and checked the copy I’d made against his.
He still had the same icehouse key as from before.
And I’m sure he’d have been given a new key if the lock change had been official. ”
Treadles glanced at Fowler, who did not seem remotely displeased by the news.
Any time his superior took pleasure in a development, it could only be bad news for Lord Ingram. And now that Treadles had tacitly yet indisputably sided with Lord Ingram, Fowler’s pleasure felt like a punch in the gut.
“Thank you, Mr. Keeling,” said Chief Inspector Fowler. “You have been most helpful.”