‘We’ve been robbed.’ Howard was red with fury. ‘Matilda saw a man sneaking along the landing and raised the alarm. You warned me about the fellow – I should have been more alert.’
What fellow? Did he mean that the intruder was Billy Summersgill?
Lavender turned to the younger girl. ‘When was this, Miss Matilda? And exactly what happened?’
Matilda shrugged. ‘I sleep on the floor above my sister’s room. I looked over the bannister and saw a stranger lurking outside her bedchamber. I knew it wasn’t one of the servants because he wore a hat pulled low over his ugly, pale English face.’
‘You saw his face?’
‘Yes – but only enough to see his pasty skin. When I screamed, he ran down the stairs. Grandfather came running – and Amelia. It was an hour ago.’
Lavender hesitated. This sounded more like Miss Howard had been entertaining a nocturnal male visitor than a burglar. Stranger things had happened in wealthy Mayfair homes. But Howard’s next statement left him in no doubt they were dealing with a robbery.
‘We’ve found where the damned scoundrel broke into the house. It’s the laundry door to the rear yard. He broke the glass and pulled out the key from the inside to let himself in.’
‘Did the servants . . . ?’
‘No, no one heard anything.’
‘It may have been the breaking glass that woke me,’ Matilda said. ‘I sleep at the back above the laundry.’
‘What’s been stolen?’ Lavender asked.
‘Ha!’ Howard exclaimed. ‘That’s how we know it was your man. Amelia’s jewellery box has been rifled. The ruby ring MacAdam gave her has gone. You need to arrest that moneylender you told me about – he’s behind this.’
Lavender glanced around in disbelief at the priceless jewelled ornaments and artefacts adorning every surface of the well-lit drawing room. ‘Are you sure that’s all that was stolen?’
‘The servants have done a thorough search while we waited for you to arrive. Nothing else is missing.’
Lavender frowned. It seemed unbelievable that a burglar had ignored the rest of the wealth in the house and made his way straight to a young girl’s jewellery box. ‘I need to examine the scene of the crime. Please take me to Miss Howard’s room.’
They all accompanied him up the curved marble staircase to the floor above. There were many doors on this landing and a small night lamp flickered on an onyx table next to the door to Miss Howard’s room.
‘Was this lamp lit at the time of the burglary?’ It would have made it easier for Matilda to glimpse the face of the thief.
Matilda answered, ‘Yes, my sister is scared of the dark – the silly mare.’ Lavender heard the derision in her tone. Miss Howard didn’t respond to her sister’s taunt and remained standing beside her grandfather with her head bowed.
Lavender glanced upwards. The staircase continued to sweep up in a spiral for at least another two floors.
‘Where do you sleep, Miss Matilda?’
She pointed her long, thin hand to the open door of a room on the upper balcony opposite. Lavender nodded. She would have had an excellent view of the prowling thief.
After the vivid colour and brashness of the rest of the Howard home, Miss Howard’s bedchamber was tastefully decorated and furnished in pastels, with peach and cream striped upholstery. The material was also used in the heavy satin drapes, which were still closed against the waning night outside. The silk sheets and satin coverlet on the elegant four-poster bed were crumpled and looked like they’d been thrown back in haste. The contents of Miss Howard’s jewellery box lay scattered on the surface of a carved light-oak dressing table by the window. Lavender walked across and examined the scattered jewellery carefully, fingering the silver filigree earrings and painted glass bangles. The Howards watched his every move in silence.
‘It does seem that the burglar intended to steal Miss Howard’s ring,’ Lavender said thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if there’s more to the history and value of that item than we know.’ He’d heard stories of the drastic lengths some Asian and African communities had gone to in order to retrieve precious artefacts and jewels, taken or stolen by British traders. Often these pieces were imbibed with religious or spiritual significance. He turned back to Miss Howard. ‘Did Mr MacAdam tell you anything of its history when he presented it to you?’
She sat down on her bed and shook her head. ‘No, nothing. I can’t get over the horror of what has happened.’ She had a quiet, melodious little voice. ‘It’s awful to think of that man in here while I slept, going through my possessions.’
‘Yes, you could have been murdered in your bed,’ her sister said cheerfully.
‘But you saw and heard nothing until Miss Matilda screamed?’ Lavender asked.
She shook her head again. ‘I’m a heavy sleeper.’
‘What I don’t understand,’ Howard interrupted, ‘is how the deuce he knew which one was Amelia’s bedchamber?’
‘He may have had an accomplice inside your house, who told him where she slept,’ Lavender said. ‘The only other explanation is that the thief visited several rooms before he found her.’
The Howards all shuddered at the thought.
Billy Summersgill knew what Miss Howard looked like. MacAdam drove past Billy’s moneylending shop with her in the phaeton. But Lavender was still unwilling to leap to the same conclusion as Howard. Rogues from the Seven Dials, like Summersgill, didn’t walk through a home bursting with valuable artefacts to simply steal a ring from a young girl.
‘It doesn’t matter about the stupid ring,’ Miss Howard exclaimed. She sounded close to tears. ‘My grandfather told me about the true extent of Davy’s betrayal. I never want to see that ring again!’
‘Nonsense!’ Howard said. ‘That’s not the point, Amelia. Some villain has broken into our home and robbed us. We must investigate the theft and bring the culprit to justice. Matilda, comfort your sister. Lavender, come with me – I’ll show you the broken door where the scoundrel entered.’
Lavender set off to follow Howard down the stairs, then paused and turned back. ‘I know this is a bad time, Miss Howard, but before I leave, may I have a moment or two of your time to ask you some questions about MacAdam?’
‘Ha!’ said the sad young woman. ‘It’s never a good time, Detective – not for the last two days – but yes, very well. We’re all wide awake now. We may as well talk.’
Relieved he’d finally secured an interview with the young woman, Lavender followed Howard and the footman down several flights of stairs and through a maze of narrow passages. Frightened servants lurked in the shadows. Some bobbed a curtsey to Howard as they passed. The musty laundry was a long, narrow room, white-tiled and stone-flagged and crammed with mangles and large washing tubs. Lavender felt the cold draught from the broken window. The others stood back when he approached the half-open wooden door with its shattered glazing.
He noticed the omission immediately. He should have felt and heard the broken glass crunching beneath his boots but there was no glass in the laundry. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door further open. The iron key had been wrenched out from the inside of the door and was now inserted into the lock on the outside. But the broken glass from the smashed window was glimmering in the moonlight on the step outside the door.
‘We’ve a problem, Mr Howard,’ Lavender said.
‘What’s that?’
‘This glass has been shattered from the inside of the building, by someone standing here in the laundry.’
‘What?’
‘This is an amateurish attempt to make it look like someone broke into the house, when no such thing happened.’
‘By Christ, Lavender! What are you suggesting?’
‘Miss Howard was either robbed by someone who lives here – or alternatively, someone let the thief into the building then smashed the window to try to throw us off the scent.’
Chapter Twenty-Three
For a moment, Howard stood in silence, staring down at the broken g
lass. Then he swore and clenched his arthritic fists. ‘Betrayed by one of my own staff? I’ll flay the hide off the bastard when I find him!’
‘We need to interview your servants as well as Billy Summersgill, the moneylender,’ Lavender continued. ‘Everyone who has slept in the house tonight is now a suspect in this burglary.’
Howard nodded, his jaw rigid with anger. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before – it’s so obvious now you’ve pointed it out.’
‘You were shocked by the burglary. It’s understandable,’ Lavender said. ‘I’ll go back to Bow Street and organise officers to arrest Summersgill and search his premises for the stolen ring. Unfortunately, I can’t do it myself. I have an appointment at MacAdam’s bank at eight, then the inquest opens at nine into his murder.’
‘Yes, yes, I know solving MacAdam’s murder is your priority. I’ve sent for my secretary, Jackson. We’ll interview the servants together – and find the damned villain who did this.’ A vein throbbed in the sagging folds of his neck above the open collar of his nightshirt. ‘I don’t take betrayal lightly from anyone in my household, especially when it endangers my granddaughters while they’re asleep in their beds.’
Relieved to leave this particular task to Howard, Lavender nodded. ‘I leave for Chelmsford this afternoon but I’ll send you a message when we’ve got Billy Summersgill in custody – and you can contact me through Bow Street. The bishop has agreed to the exhumation of MacAdam’s grave at dawn tomorrow, which is why I need to return to Essex.’
‘Do you like digging up dead people, Lavender?’ Matilda Howard asked. The girl had slid up behind them and was leaning nonchalantly against a mangle. A sly smile played around her lips.
‘I told you to stay with your sister,’ Howard snapped. The girl shrugged at his irritation.
Lavender ignored her and turned back to Howard. ‘I’ll make sure Billy Summersgill is thoroughly interrogated by the Bow Street police and his premises searched,’ Lavender said. ‘You’re right to suspect he’s involved in this crime. From what we saw of him yesterday, he’s obsessed with reclaiming that ring – and sometimes obsession can lead men into foolish criminal acts. Now if you don’t mind, just before I leave, may I speak with Miss Howard?’
‘Yes.’ Howard frowned. ‘I suppose there will be newspaper reporters at the inquest?’
Lavender nodded. ‘There usually are.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you can keep Amelia’s name out of this dreadful affair. Her relationship with MacAdam had no bearing on his murder.’
‘I’ll do what I can,’ Lavender said, ‘but once they find out MacAdam faked his own death, they’ll ask questions about why he went to such extreme lengths.’
Howard shook his head sadly. ‘What a damned mess this is.’
Lavender made his way back upstairs to Miss Howard’s room. She waited patiently for him in an armchair by the cold fireplace. Her pretty face was clouded with sadness but he was pleased to see she was dry-eyed. Her Indian ayah hovered around in the background, folding clothes.
Lavender sat down in the companion chair on the other side of the hearth. ‘May I first give you my condolences, Miss Howard. I appreciate you must be very distressed by David MacAdam’s death – and everything else you’ve learned about him since.’
‘I’ve cried until I’ve no tears left, Detective,’ she said. ‘Now all I feel is a deep sadness. I’m sad he’s dead – and I feel very sorry for myself. My foolish dreams are shattered.’
‘I’ll not take much of your time,’ Lavender promised, ‘and I’ll try not to distress you further. I only have a few questions. First, can you please tell me what happened the night he died? I know he was here with you and your grandfather until about nine o’clock.’
‘We had a very pleasant evening – full of laughter. Davy was a funny man. But I was tired and went to bed early. Davy drank brandy with my grandfather and then he went home.’
‘In his carriage? The old one with the coat of arms with the two rampant black stallions?’
‘Yes.’ A small smile flitted at the corner of her young mouth as she remembered something. ‘It was a dreadful vehicle compared to our phaeton, very uncomfortable. It rattled and creaked. But Davy was fond of it. He said it had been his grandmother’s coach and she’d bequeathed it to him when she died.’
Lavender didn’t correct her. ‘So sometimes you travelled with him in the coach?’
She nodded. ‘Not often. We were always more comfortable in Grandfather’s phaeton. Davy’s carriage was an ancient landau with saggy leather straps and a stale odour. But it didn’t have rampant black stallions in the emblem, Detective. They were unicorns and they were red.’
Lavender breathed an inward sigh of relief, mingled with frustration. No wonder no one had recognised the crest he’d shown them. Mr Jackson, Howard’s secretary, had given him an inaccurate description. ‘Do you know anyone who might want to harm Mr MacAdam? Did he ever mention any enemies?’
The glossy curls peeping beneath her nightcap wobbled when she shook her head. ‘No, Davy was a popular man. I can’t . . . can’t imagine how anyone would want to hurt him . . .’ Her voice broke and Lavender realised that despite her courage, she was on the verge of tears again.
‘Did he ever talk about his friends Francis – Frank – Collins and Alfred Bentley?’
‘Yes, sometimes. They shared a passion for horse racing.’
‘Did you ever meet them?’
‘No, he promised me they would be at our wedding and I’d meet them there.’ Her luminous eyes filled with tears again at the thought of her ruined nuptials.
‘Just two last questions, Miss Howard,’ he said. ‘Did you ever give David MacAdam any money?’
She shook her head again and her glistening eyes fixed dreamily on the wall. ‘No, Davy was a gentleman. I knew his family wasn’t as wealthy as mine but he would never ask to borrow money from a woman.’
How little you knew him, Lavender thought, remembering his conversation that afternoon with Lady Louisa Fitzgerald.
‘Finally, I’d just like to know if you visited MacAdam yesterday morning to pay your respects. Two women came to Bow Street and spent time with his corpse.’
She looked startled. ‘No, that wasn’t me. I was too distressed to leave my room.’
Lavender thanked her and rose to leave. She couldn’t help him further. MacAdam had kept this young woman ignorant about his real life and his evil intentions.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the wooden box of billet-doux she had written MacAdam. ‘These are yours, I believe, Miss Howard. I thought you’d appreciate it if I returned them.’
She took the box in trembling hands. Large tears rolled down her cheeks as he bowed again and left.
Dawn was breaking over the smoking chimneys and spires of London when Lavender rode away from the house on Bruton Street. Faint pink streaks reached out across the lightening sky above. It promised to be another clear day, but for the first time that month Lavender felt the chill of autumn in the dawn air.
The city was stirring. Shopkeepers in long aprons pulled back shutters, swept refuse away from the front of their stores and chased away the beggars who had slept in their doorways overnight. They carried out displays of their wares and stacked them on the pavements. Workers scurrying to their jobs veered round them. The smell of fried breakfast ham mingled with the drifting coal smoke reminded Lavender that he hadn’t eaten. He wondered if the indomitable little Betsy Woods had managed to beat some sense into her stubborn husband and force him to break his ridiculous fast.
When he approached Bow Street, he saw a light already glimmering in James Read’s office and once again he felt a surge of respect for the court’s Chief Magistrate. Read worked long hours like his police officers and took his responsibilities seriously.
Oswald Grey had also arrived and was at his post at the desk in the hallway. Grey had responsibility for organising the workload of the police constables so Lavender
went to him to arrange the re-arrest of Billy Summersgill.
‘We’ll have to wait until the day shift arrives,’ Grey said, ‘and this will take a group of several men. I can’t send a solitary officer into the Seven Dials – he’d never come out alive.’
Lavender nodded. One of the most notorious parts of London, the Seven Dials was a maze of gin shops, hovels and secret alleyways divided by open sewers. Cut-throats lurked around every dark corner and Bow Street officers were often attacked, especially if they ventured there alone after dark.
Lavender thanked Grey, then went up the scuffed stairs to report to his employer.
Read sat behind his cluttered desk with a quill in his hand and a pile of papers in front of him. He glanced up when Lavender entered and gave him a welcoming smile. ‘You’re early, Stephen.’
‘I had a rude awakening.’ Lavender sat down on a hard-backed chair opposite the magistrate. ‘There was a burglary at the Howards’ home in the early hours.’
Read put down his quill and frowned. ‘Is it connected to the murder of David MacAdam?’
‘I don’t know,’ Lavender confessed, and proceeded to update Read about all the developments in the case. Read listened in grim silence. Only the occasional raised grey eyebrow or tightening of his square jaw indicated his surprise.
‘I suspect MacAdam left his job to spend all his time courting Miss Howard and seducing her into marriage. I’m sure the bank will later confirm my suspicion that he received regular payments from his group of admiring old ladies.’
‘Have you had any luck tracing that carriage or the murder weapon?’
Lavender shook his head. ‘Not yet, but thanks to Miss Howard, I’ve got a new lead about the carriage – and a strong suspicion where I’ll find it. I’ll deal with that before we go to Chelmsford for the exhumation.’
Read sighed. ‘At which point, you’ll probably get another murder to solve.’
Lavender nodded. ‘At the moment, Ike Rawlings is my main suspect for the murder of MacAdam but the evidence is circumstantial. I’ll keep an open mind. In the meantime, I’ve raised a hue and cry for Frank Collins and asked Grey to send out officers to arrest Billy Summersgill to question him further about this missing ring – we need to find them both.’
Murder in Park Lane Page 17