A trio of keys, p.15
A Trio of Keys, page 15
“O, woe is thee,” Portia mocked.
Cordelia’s eyes never blinked. She just turned her teacup handle to align with her thumb holding the saucer. “Woe is me, sister dear? This is your fault.”
“How is your chopped-off hair my fault? Say it—if you dare.”
She opened her mouth, then faltered and looked away. “I should not have left my chamber. I should not have.”
“Better to live there than out in the world,” Portia snapped. “Especially if you are to do such stupid things as cutting off your hair.”
“Did she kill him?” a woman whispered.
Bee could no longer be quiet. She jumped up. “She didn’t kill anyone. Cordelia would never hurt anyone. Can’t you see? She turns everything inside, on herself. Gods, Cordy.”
She tried to take her cousin’s tea from her, but Cordelia snatched it back. “I want my tea.”
Bee sank onto her chair and watched Cordy determinedly eat her pastry and drink her tea. Then she set aside the china, wrapped her arms around herself as if she were cold, and rocked back and forth, back and forth.
. ~ . ~ . ~ .
The review of Hector’s case notes quickly became a disaster.
Henning opened by asking, “You have a gaol to house this murderess once we arrest her?”
“It’s dank and filthy. Fit only for drunks coming off a bender and local farm boys after fighting at the end of Market Day.”
He nodded. “We’ll be using it, though, won’t we? We should have our murderess in irons before afternoon tea.”
“If we come to a conclusion later than that, Lord Chalmsley has a storage room in the cellary that we can press into duty.”
“Good, good.” Henning started his review, asking for Hector’s suspicions of Portia and Cordelia. He listened without comment to the explanation, the background, the motives.
Then Henning ignored everything Hector had said.
He flipped back to the first page in the little notebook. “I’ve heard this before: Smiles disguise knives; innocence is a cloak easily shed. Where have I heard that?”
“Sir Richard used to say it. I start every case writing those words. They remind me to look closely at every person involved in the crime.”
“But you haven’t, have you? You’ve blinded yourself, Evans. Who found the first body?”
“The maid Holyfield.”
“Who did she report this to? Miss Beatrice Seddars. Not the butler. Not the housekeeper. Would they not be the appropriate persons for a maid to report her discovery to? And here, you’ve written that B—Beatrice Seddars, I presume?” When Hector nodded, the officer continued, “B examined the body first, before anyone else. She directed the maid to stand outside while she herself was in the room alone.”
“Yes, but Holyfield said—.” He dragged his gaze from the bright blue sky above the frozen landscape, with frost that the sun’s rays hadn’t managed to melt. Henning’s question had a trap in it, although Hector couldn’t see it. “I have a note on the next page or so, I believe,” he directed and waited until the officer turned the pages. “The maid notified Miss Seddars because she would know what to do.”
“Miss Seddars controls the household?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. It’s more that she manages it for Lady Chalmsley, who won’t manage it.”
“That’s interesting. Her ladyship is remiss in her duties.”
“Neglectful rather than remiss,” he corrected, not wanting anything misunderstood. If Henning was going to pick at every little detail, then Hector would ensure each detail was accurate. “When a difficulty arises, the servants turn to Miss Seddars.”
The man turned a page, turned the next, scanned the block print, then flipped back to the original page. Eyes still on the page, he asked, “Who set up your first interviews? With the chambermaid and the valet?”
“The butler, through Miss Seddars’ direction.”
“Did she speak with them before you did? Did she perhaps provide them with ideas about what they should say in answer to your questions?”
“Bee—Miss Seddars wouldn’t do that. Besides, she was here all the morning. She had ample opportunity long before my arrival to speak with Dowding and Holyfield. My understanding, however, is that she was busy following Lord Chalmsley’s instructions about removing Mr. Kennington’s body to the chapel and closing off the room prior to my arrival. Then the Frasers had to be dealt with. Miss Fraser was distraught. She didn’t come down from her room until that evening.”
“The Frasers. That’s Miss Fraser, his fiancée, and her parents. Among those who just left in their carriage. After your arrival, when it became obvious that a full investigation into the murder would occur? Did Miss Seddars speak with this Dowding and Holyfield then?”
“Not with Dowding. By noon he was out of the house.” He leaned back, one booted foot crossed over his knee, his hand resting negligently on his ankle, seemingly at ease, while every sense stayed alert for sneaking snares. “With the maid, Miss Seddars may have discussed the events that I would question.”
“What is this note about curtains?”
“Miss Seddars opened the curtains in order to see Mr. Kennington more closely.”
“You’ve also written before sunrise.”
“That was a discrepancy.” He hadn’t remembered that one. Now, though, Hector recalled that jarring note when Bee had confessed she had forgotten how early it was. That wasn’t like her. “She said she opened the curtains to have a steadier light by which to see the wound, but the sun was not yet up.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“No. In her defense, she’d recently been awakened, and she’d been shocked by Mr. Kennington’s body.”
Those brown eyes rested steadily on Hector. “She said this to you.”
“No. I surmised it.”
“I see. Why did she have the maid wait in the hallway while she alone examined the room? Did this Holyfield see what Miss Seddars did?” When Hector shook his head, Henning drew a finger across the page. “Did you also surmise that Miss Seddars ordered the maid to remain in the hallway so she would have opportunity to alter evidence before anyone else viewed the body?”
“I didn’t write that.”
“But you acknowledge the possibility?”
“I would be blind if I didn’t acknowledge it, but Miss Seddars wouldn’t alter anything. You don’t know her, Henning. She wouldn’t do that. If she murdered Kennington, she would have the wit to clear up any evidence before anyone found his body.”
“You are saying she would be a clever murderess.”
Hector very carefully corrected the officer. “I am saying Bee—Beatrice Seddars is clever, not that she’s a murderess. The maid said that she didn’t want to look back into the room. Miss Seddars asked her to wait in the hall. She didn’t order her to wait there. She then sent Holyfield to wake the butler Mr. Richardson and the housekeeper Miss Lovell.”
“You have written the word coached.” He displayed the note page with the word in capitals.
And Hector understood how witnesses felt during his interrogations. The cold landscape was nothing to the freezing temperature in the conservatory where they sat. He expected icicles to drip off the ferns, ice to glaze the flagstones. “Something I noticed during the interview. Holyfield kept looking to Miss Seddars for her approval.”
“You think Miss Seddars anticipated your questions and guided the maid’s answers?”
“I wondered that,” he admitted. “I am suspicious by nature. The job teaches us to be, and I was in the job for over seven years.”
“Yes, I am aware of your reputation before you left Bow Street. Even though I came after your exit, the name Hector Evans was renown for solving the trickiest of cases. You never lost a case, I hear, even when your perpetrator was wealthy. I understood you never hesitated to lay a case against merchants and gentry.”
Henning sounded grudging. Hector tried not to sound arrogant. “The Crown prosecutor made good use of the evidence I found. Only one man that I brought to justice never admitted to his crime. He refused. Highway robbery was a hanging offense. He went to his grave claiming his innocence.”
“Do you perhaps still wonder if he was innocent? Is that the reason you refuse to move forward without clear evidence?”
“I refuse to move forward because I have no evidence, only speculation. And that man was guilty. I had two eyewitnesses, men who didn’t know each other in any way that I could find. He also kept a journal. That wasn’t reading for the weak of mind. He carefully selected his victims, people he held a grudge against. In one case, he regretted that he hadn’t shot the man.”
Henning nodded. “Your notes are not reading for the weak of mind. I find it difficult to read your scrawl.” He offered a smile, which Hector didn’t return. “Yet you say this case has stumped you.”
“I’ve only been on the estate three days. I expected a few more days before Lord Chalmsley grew impatient.”
He didn’t pursue that comment. “These notes, removal from estate and control of property, what are they about?”
Hector nearly sighed. He’d put too much into the notebook. When he’d written it, he hadn’t truly understood Bee or her decisions or her situation. Writing the words helped him slow down his thought process enough to work out what she had experienced. “Miss Seddars had stated that she was late for sleep because she’d been writing a letter to her man-of-business. His name’s Cosgrove. He’s in London. He currently manages her inheritance while Lord Chalmsley serves as a trustee. She wished that her fiancé not have control of her inheritance upon their marriage, that Mr. Cosgrove retain all control.”
“It is curious that she would accept a man’s proposal when she didn’t trust him. It is Mr. Edmund Tretheway to whom she is betrothed, is that correct?”
He wondered where and when Henning had received his information about the guests at Chalmsley. “Tretheway’s her fiancé,” he confirmed with a nod. “She said something later, I can’t remember the exact words, that had me wondering if she’d received pressure to accept his proposal. I had the impression that she would not remain at Chalmsley Court if she didn’t accept him.”
“You thought Lord Chalmsley would want Miss Seddars removed from the estate? He wanted her removed from any association with his family if she did not accept Tretheway’s proposal? Is he so desperate to have her gone from the estate? Does he wish she did not have so much control of his servants and the house?”
“I don’t think Lord Chalmsley views Bee as a threat. He’s tight-fisted, and he cannot access any monies from her inheritance, only a percentage of her quarterly payment and stipends to reimburse her board and living. He may be weary of the yearly outlay of funds for a woman’s presentation during the Season without any anticipation of a return. Marriage to Tretheway would not only remove her as a financial drain on the estate but also create strong ties to the Tretheway family. Edmund Tretheway is related to an earl. His family is of excellent reputation although the fortune’s a little weak. Tretheway probably needs Bee’s funds more than he wants a wife. Chalmsley promoted the match. She acquiesced. I wouldn’t have expected her to do otherwise.”
Henning leaned back in his chair. “That’s a long explanation when I expected a simple ‘yea’ or ‘nay’.”
“We should be accurate.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Indeed.” Yet he scanned Hector, as if expecting to see—what? Signs of love? Signs that he was under Bee’s influence? Signs that Lord Chalmsley had burned the last friendly bridge to Hector? Signs that Hector would leave his lordship’s employ once this case ended? He didn’t know half those answers himself until this very moment. How could Henning see them?
The Bow Street officer—and Hector knew the job he wanted when this case ended—returned to the notebook. He squinted. “B claimed that she looked for the weapon after she examined the wound closely. You underlined claimed and closely. Why would Miss Seddars do these two things? Examine the wound and then look for the weapon?”
“She thought he had committed suicide. She hoped he had.”
“She hoped for suicide?” He put down the notebook and folded his hands over his trim belly. “Miss Seddars seems remarkably cold-blooded. She enters a room where murder has occurred, a bloody scene if I read your notes correctly. The gentleman is naked, covered in gore, and she closely examines his wound. Then she searches for a weapon. Is that the reaction you would expect of a gently reared young lady?”
“Not the normal reaction. Not the one I would have expected eight years ago. Miss Seddars is the same, yet she is different.”
“That’s correct. You were here several years before going to London to join us?”
“My time here and her time only coincided for a few months. She was recently orphaned. Her normal behavior was considerably dampened by grief. Yet I saw her iron will even then, tamped down as she struggled to fit in here.”
“An iron will. You admired her then.” Hector nodded once. Henning tapped his chin. “Even so, you must have been on guard from the moment you realized you had a murder to solve.”
“On guard with everyone, Henning, not just one or two people. For example, I noticed quite a number of new servants. I found it odd. A small change-over that brings in new servants is to be expected, but over half the staff are new additions. This is not the Chalmsley Court I once knew.”
While the man nodded, he picked up the notebook and flipped back and forth a couple of times. “I see that you have no conclusion to your interview of Miss Seddars. You shift to a Dowding next.”
“Kennington’s valet.”
“Why did you not conclude your interview?”
“Dowding had left the house. As soon as he was located, we went to interview him.”
“Miss Seddars accompanied you?” He shook his head. If he’d been an old woman, he would have tsked, tsked. “I begin to doubt your ability to conduct an objective investigation, Evans. Lord Chalmsley must have noticed your difficulties on that first day, for he sent for me—.” He flicked back to the first page. “Yes, I received his letter the day after you arrived. He would have had to reach his conclusion that very evening to send a messenger post-haste to London the next morning.”
“I cannot read minds. I do not know the reason Lord Chalmsley decided to request a Bow Street officer to assist his constable. A handful of days is hardly time to locate a murder weapon when the murderer is intent on keeping it hidden. I have no witnesses. Or I may have one, but a court wouldn’t accept her evidence. No Crown prosecutor and jury will rely on my opinion alone to send someone to the gallows. Or would you have your murderess already locked up, waiting for inquest and trial and hangman’s noose?”
Henning didn’t answer that question. “You have your murderess but no evidence.”
“I hoped our afternoon would point out something that I have missed.”
“It has. I would have arrested this Beatrice Seddars on the first evening.”
“No.” He felt hollow. Halfway through, the dread had built. He’d known—but he’d ignored the foreboding. He’d trusted his training. He shouldn’t have trusted that Henning had the same training. “She didn’t kill these men.”
“And you know this how?”
Only through the weakest and flimsiest of evidence: love. Henning would laugh him from the room. “Just keep looking at my notes. You haven’t read yesterday’s notes, not a page of them.”
The officer obliged him, but only by looking at the valet’s interview, not by turning to Hector’s notations yesterday. “Dowding refused to return to the house. He thought the murderess would fear he’d seen her. Had he seen her?”
“No, he had not, although Kennington must have had a night-time visit more than once during his time here. You’ll have to trust my notes, though. Lord Chalmsley allowed the valet to return home today.”
“I am not concerned about the valet. You have another notation here: not Moira Fraser.”
Hector explained Dowding’s recitations of his master’s dissatisfaction with his virginal fiancée.
Henning, though, had continued to read. “Kennington kept a journal?”
“So Dowding said. Dates with initials beside them. I never found it. I suspect the journal was burned that very night.”
“On Kennington’s bed, destroying the murder scene.” He skimmed the next pages of Hector’s notebook. “Who discovered the arson and called for help? I notice that alert was too late to save the papers from burning. You need not answer. Miss Beatrice Seddars. An exciting evening, Evans, followed by another one, with Mr. Pierpont killed. Only this time, Miss Seddars awakened you to go with her to examine the body.”
“Aunt Beth awakened her. They both awakened me.”
The officer shrugged. “You have an interesting list here. Christina Wilton, not her sister. Daphne Herrick. Phaedra Dunham. Moira Fraser. I thought you had ruled her out?”
“I have no evidence for a conviction. Nor do I have evidence to clear anyone’s name. Read the rest of my list.”
“Lady Paton. I am surprised you included her. All the rest are young unmarried ladies.”
“When you meet Lady Paton, you’ll understand. I believe the young men call her Lady Bountiful. I also included Lady Pierpont. And Portia, Cordelia, and Beatrice.”
Henning closed the notebook and returned it to Hector who tucked it inside his waistcoat. The officer leaned back. Resting his elbows on the chair-arms, he templed his fingers and touched the points to his chin. “Evidence would help your case. From what I can divine, you have circumstances and hearsay, neither of which will hold in court against a wily barrister. What I find most interesting, however, is that at the end of your first day, every idea you had seemed to point to Beatrice Seddars, but today you accuse Portia and Cordelia Seddars to their father. What brought about that change?”
“As you say, circumstance and hearsay.”
“I’ve heard your circumstance. Tell me the reasons you believe Portia is killing these men.”
“It’s a long tale.” Henning merely motioned for Hector to continue. Where to start? Portia’s obsessive claim that the men were hers, all hers? Mad Aunt Beth and Cordelia? Or the first deadly violence? “Two years ago, Lord Chalmsley—.”
