Fortunately, Sir Edmund was a stickler for protocol during his inquests and he intervened quickly. ‘We must stick to the facts in this inquest, sir – and avoid speculation.’ He turned to Lavender. ‘Do you and your constable have any more pertinent facts you can share with us at the moment, Detective?’
‘No, sir. The investigation is still ongoing. Constable Woods has shadowed me throughout this investigation so he’ll have nothing further to add to my testimony.’
The coroner nodded and turned to the jury for a brief discussion. To Lavender’s relief, they decided to adjourn the inquest pending further information. ‘We feel we’ve established without reasonable doubt the identity and cause of death of David MacAdam,’ Sir Edmund said. ‘His death is suspicious; he was feloniously murdered by a person or persons unknown. Detective Lavender and Constable Woods need to pursue further inquiries. Let’s all hope this investigation is quickly concluded and these villains are apprehended and brought to justice. I declare this inquest adjourned until further evidence is available.’
Relieved, Lavender climbed down from the witness stand. Across the room, Magistrate Read pulled Sir Richard to one side. Lavender couldn’t hear what was said but he guessed the nature of their conversation from the shocked expression on Sir Richard’s face. A faint, discernible line of colour touched Sir Richard’s jawline and he glanced furtively across the room at Lavender.
‘Well, that went well,’ Woods said.
Lavender rolled his eyes; Woods’ forced cheerfulness was grating on him. ‘Yes, all the more so because I kept you out of the dock,’ he snapped. ‘You do realise how indiscreet you were at the bank, don’t you?’
Woods looked hurt but didn’t have chance to reply. Suddenly Vincent Dowling was by their side, with his pencil and notebook clutched in his inky fingers. ‘So why did he fake his own death, Lavender? Was this an insurance fraud – or was he dallying with another woman?’
‘I can’t tell you anything more at the moment.’
Dowling’s long, greasy hair swayed when he laughed. ‘I have other ways to find out, Lavender.’
‘I’m sure you do – if you must.’
‘Oh, I must. I think I can help you too, Lavender. I saw the pathetic hue and cry notice you placed in the news-sheets this morning; I doubt you’ll get much response from that. What the public needs is a good scandal to attract their interest and my readers will love the scandal of a man faking his own death. You’ll soon catch your man with their help.’
‘We’re not prepared to say any more at the moment,’ Lavender said firmly. He gave Woods a knowing stare. Woods replied with an almost imperceptible nod.
But Dowling wouldn’t let it drop. ‘It sounds like the dead man went to elaborate lengths to deceive his poor wife – and there must be a reason. Is she a suspect in his murder, by the way?’
Magistrate Read beckoned Lavender across the room.
‘Excuse me, Dowling.’ He walked over, leaving Woods alone with the journalist, silently praying Woods wouldn’t succumb to pressure from the man to reveal any more about the case.
‘Sir Richard would like a quiet word with you, Lavender.’ Read walked across to speak to the coroner, leaving them alone.
Sir Richard coughed to clear his throat. ‘Well, this is a devilish situation, Lavender. I had no notion of what my sister and her friends were up to with her damned lodgers.’
‘I believe you.’
The surgeon paused in surprise and scanned Lavender’s face. ‘Well, as I’m sure you appreciate – this must never come out. We need to be discreet. Nothing to the newspapers, eh? I dread to think what Lady Allison will say when she finds out about Sylvia’s part in this. We’ve tried to persuade Sylvia to sell her house and move in with us – but I don’t know if Katherine will be so keen now.’
Lavender half-smiled and glanced across to Mrs Palmer, who sat on a bench, waiting patiently for her brother. Sir Richard seemed more concerned about his wife’s reaction to this revelation than the public scandal it would cause. He wondered idly about the strength of character of Lady Allison. Was Sir Richard like the rest of the married men he knew, including himself – master of his own house in name only?
‘Is it true your mother-in-law, Mrs Willis, has been out of London for some time?’
‘Mrs Willis is the second wife of Lady Allison’s father. Strictly speaking, she’s my step mother-in-law, Lavender. No relation.’
‘The news-sheets won’t be so discerning – they won’t care. Any scandal involving Mrs Willis would still reflect badly on you and Lady Allison.’
‘Yes, I know, I know. But to answer your question, Mrs Willis has been in Hampshire with her dying brother for some weeks now. The fellow is taking an infernally long time about his dying. She’s nothing to do with this damned case.’
‘Good, this reduces the number of these women I need to question.’
‘But what about it, eh, Lavender? The discretion I mentioned? I watched you in the witness stand there – you did a good job sticking to the pertinent facts and avoiding lurid speculation.’ There was a fine sheen of sweat on Sir Richard’s high forehead and the gleam of desperation in his pale, lashless eyes. The man was pleading with him. ‘Can we get through this without mention of my sister and Mrs Willis?’
Lavender glanced across at Woods, who was now alone at the other side of the courtroom. Believing himself unobserved, his constable was leaning heavily on a wooden bar. Pain flitted across his face from some abdominal spasm. This had got to stop.
‘Perhaps we can have an arrangement, Sir Richard.’
‘An arrangement?’
‘Yes – if I do my best to keep the women in your family out of the scandal sheets, you can undo some of the damage you inflicted two days ago on Constable Woods.’
‘Woods? What the devil does he have to do with this?’
‘Your comment about how he needs to wear a man’s corset upset him badly and there have been repercussions.’
Sir Richard laughed. ‘Surely you don’t expect me to apologise for speaking the truth, Lavender? The man is quite overweight.’
‘No, I don’t expect an apology,’ Lavender replied grimly. ‘I just need you to be the doctor and medical professional you are. Woods has thrown himself into a ridiculous fast – he hasn’t eaten anything for three days now in the belief that this will help him lose weight.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ Sir Richard exclaimed.
‘Yes, I know. But he’s a stubborn man. I’m concerned he’s injuring himself with this starvation. Give him your medical opinion, some advice, some help.’
‘Of course he’s hurting himself – I’ve never heard such nonsense!’ Sir Richard laughed again. He obviously found the whole situation amusing.
Lavender fought back his irritation and steeled himself not to react. ‘He’s a stubborn fool,’ he agreed, ‘but he needs guidance, not mocking. His wife and I have both tried to talk sense into him and failed.’
Sir Richard stopped laughing and held out his hand to seal the pact. ‘Very well, Lavender, if that’s what you want from me in return for your cooperation and discretion, I’ll do it. I’ll help persuade your idiotic constable to eat again. Shouldn’t be hard. I must take Sylvia back home now but I’ll see you both at The Great Black Boy coaching inn in Chelmsford this evening.’
A niggling doubt crossed Lavender’s mind when he shook the surgeon’s proffered hand. A wicked glint had replaced the distress in Sir Richard’s eyes. Had he just made a pact with the devil? Woods would certainly think so. But a desperate situation required a desperate solution.
There was no time to worry about it. He had less than two hours before they were due to leave for Chelmsford with the body of David MacAdam – and he needed to find that damned carriage and its driver.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Lavender and Woods paused at the top of King’s Street Mews and surveyed the activity in the narrow, muddy back street. Grooms were leading out horses. A liveried coachm
an wrung out a leather cloth over a bucket of water then disappeared back through the open doors of the coach house and continued to wipe down the gleaming barouche inside. There was a forge halfway down the mews and the metallic clang of the blacksmith’s rhythmic hammering filled the air. Old axles and a pile of rusty iron wheels leaned against the wall of the smithy. Weeds sprouted at their base.
They tied the reins of their horses to an iron ring on the outside of one of the stables and Lavender found the same ostler he’d spoken to the day before, mashing up bran for the horses in a tub. He asked where they would find the coach house owned by Lady Tyndall and they were directed to the building next to the blacksmith’s forge. The huge doors were closed but unlocked. They slid open easily on their iron runners.
‘’Ere, what you doin’?’ The leather-aproned blacksmith, a big man with black bushy hair and whiskers, had left his anvil and was standing glowering beside them. His hammer dangled menacingly in his hand.
Lavender pulled out his brass-topped tipstaff and held it up. ‘I’m Detective Lavender from Bow Street. I need to see Lady Tyndall’s carriage and speak to her coachman.’
The hairy forge master hesitated, then nodded. ‘Runners, eh? I recognise yer uniform now. You investigatin’ that murder on Park Lane?’
Lavender nodded.
‘Well, I’m sorry I disturbed you, sir, but I can’t be too careful – what wi’ all the thievin’ coves who come down this street.’
‘Do you know Lady Tyndall’s coachman and where I can find him?’
‘That’ll be Tolly Barton you want. It’s ’is afternoon off. ’Er ladyship is always at ’ome on a Wednesday. She don’t require the carriage so Tolly gets some time off.’
Lavender glanced up at the accommodation above the coach house. The small window was one of those with a window box of red geraniums. Their colour was a vivid splash of brightness against the smoke-blackened brick. ‘Does he live here?’
‘Yes – but he ain’t ’ere. ’E always goes to visit ’is old mother in Cheapside on a Wednesday.’
Lavender bit back his frustration. He’d have to wait to speak to the coachman until after his return from Essex, but at least Lady Tyndall was at home – and receiving callers, by the sound of it. She wouldn’t be pleased when a pair of Bow Street officers arrived in her drawing room if she was surrounded by her friends and acquaintances, but pleasing Lady Tyndall wasn’t one of his priorities today.
Woods slid both coach house doors fully open to let in more light and they stepped inside.
Miss Howard was right. The coach MacAdam had borrowed was a low-slung, ancient landau with a rounded roof and sagging leather harnesses. Lavender brushed his hand over the two rampant red unicorns on the faded coat of arms on the door and felt a surge of satisfaction that this part of the mystery of MacAdam’s fateful last journey had finally been solved. ‘We need to examine the entire area. We know there won’t be much blood – if any – but let’s see if we can find any other clues.’
Woods grabbed the handle and wrenched open the stiff door of the coach, releasing the musty stale odour from inside. The vehicle rocked as he clambered up the wooden steps to examine the interior.
Lavender carefully picked his way around the floor of the coach house. Kicking aside the clumps of rotting straw, he peered beneath the undercarriage but saw nothing. He found a dark stain near the door that could be dried blood, but whether it was human or animal he couldn’t tell. This could be nothing more than the site of a successful feline strike on a rat.
A high shelf ran along the back wall, crammed with dusty bottles and pots of silver polish, glycerine, rat poison and grease, interspersed with boxes of spare nails and studs and old brushes. Below the shelf, harnesses, ropes and chains hung from rusty hooks, along with a selection of broken reins waiting to be re-stitched. He rattled the chains and moved the pots and jars to see behind them. Nothing.
Woods emerged from the interior of the coach with a small piece of white lace in his hand. ‘I found a woman’s handkerchief lost behind the seats but nothin’ else.’
Lavender sighed. ‘It was too much to hope we’d find evidence of the attack on MacAdam here.’
‘Maybe he weren’t stabbed here. Did you go through there?’ Woods jabbed a finger towards a door at the rear of the coach house. It was partially hidden from sight by a line of horse blankets hanging from hooks on the wall.
‘It leads into the forge, I think,’ Lavender said.
They tried the handle and the door swung open easily. They were at the back of the forge close to the hot furnace, where a startled young apprentice worked the groaning bellows amidst an angry shower of sparks. The blacksmith was hammering out a horseshoe on the anvil with his back to them. The apprentice called out to get his attention.
Lavender and Woods walked up to the smith, away from the blistering heat and noise of the furnace. ‘I apologise for disturbing you again, but is this door always left unlocked?’
The blacksmith immersed the glowing red horseshoe in a pail of water. There was a loud hiss and a billowing cloud of steam. Once it subsided, he placed the shoe to one side, wiped his hands on his apron and shook his head. ‘No, the darned thing is supposed to be locked at all times. I didn’t realise it were open again.’
‘How long has it been unlocked, do you think?’
The blacksmith frowned. ‘I asked Tolly Barton to make sure it were locked on ’is side about a month ago, when me other ’ammer were taken. Looks like ’e didn’t do it.’
‘Have you had items stolen recently?’ Lavender asked sharply.
The big man sniffed and nodded. ‘Aye, I’ve just lost a knife. I can’t turn me back for a minute. I blame the youngsters – they’re always roamin’ up and down this street on the lookout for somethin’ to lift.’
‘What did this knife look like?’ Lavender asked.
The man gave a short laugh. ‘Why? You runners goin’ to find it for me and ’ang the little villain who took it?’
‘No, but we’re looking for a murder weapon – a knife.’
The big man stepped back, alarmed, and held up a hand. ‘Whoa! This murder ain’t nothin’ to do wi’ me and me farrier’s knife!’
Woods turned sharply to Lavender. ‘A farrier’s knife could have killed MacAdam. It’s the right length and curved. They use it to trim the sole and frog in the feet of horses. When did you notice this knife missin’, fellah?’
The blacksmith frowned while he tried to remember. ‘A few days ago, maybe . . . no, it were on Monday when we came to work after the Sabbath.’
Lavender and Woods glanced around the cluttered forge. There were hoof nippers and gauges, nail clinchers and rasps. Metal gleamed everywhere. ‘Are you absolutely sure it’s not here?’
‘Ha! I’ve turned this place upside down lookin’ for it!’
Lavender nodded, thanked him and he and Woods left. They walked out of earshot of the blacksmith and the grooms and coachmen who milled about the cobbled street. Both men were thoughtful.
‘It looks like we’ve found the murder weapon,’ Woods said.
‘Not yet, we haven’t,’ Lavender said. ‘It’s still missing. But at least we know what we’re looking for now. It’s a good job you spotted the door to the forge, Ned. I was so busy staring at the floor looking for clues I missed it. In fact—’ He stopped suddenly. ‘How did the murderer know he could get such easy access into a room full of lethal weapons?’
‘Do you think he knew about that doorway and lay in wait for MacAdam to return home in the carriage?’
‘Possibly. The killer may have been snooping about and chanced on that grim array of metalwork in the blacksmith’s forge by accident.’
Woods frowned as a new thought struck him. ‘You don’t think that MacAdam disturbed a burglary in the forge, do you? And that he was stabbed in the gut to stop him from raisin’ the alarm?’
Lavender hesitated for a moment, then shook his head. ‘No. I doubt it. That would have led to a tussle
and the blacksmith didn’t mention that anything had been disturbed. But what we need to do is search this street and the alleyway leading to the back of Mrs Palmer’s house. The killer may have dropped the weapon when he fled.’
Silently, they retraced their steps up the mews, peering into the central drain that ran down the street and turning over clumps of rotting straw and other debris with the toe of their boots. They retrieved their horses and slowly walked the animals down the back of the row of houses, scanning every inch of the route. Nothing.
Lavender sighed. ‘It’s no use. It’s not here. Come on, we need to speak to Lady Tyndall. I’ve a lot of questions I want to ask that woman about her relationship with MacAdam.’
Chapter Twenty-Seven
They left their horses tied to the back fence and sought entrance to the house through the rear servants’ entrance, which Woods had used two days before. The elderly butler took them into the tiled servants’ hall and left them there while he went to speak to his mistress. Lavender fidgeted irritably with the delay.
A mousy young housemaid in a blue-striped uniform and a white apron was sewing at the large table in the centre of the room. Her sharp, jerky actions with the needle and the frown across her pretty young face suggested needlework wasn’t her strongest skill.
‘Mornin’, treacle,’ Woods said cheerfully.
The girl just glared at him and continued to stab at the hem of the elaborate dark-green silk gown on her lap.
Another maid in the same uniform popped her freckled face round the door. ‘Will you be long, Sarah? Only we’ve got them upstairs chambers to clean yet.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ the needlewoman said wearily. She pointed to an overflowing basket of freshly ironed laundry at her feet. ‘She wants them put away and I need to lay out ’er gown for tonight.’
The other maid nodded, sighed and withdrew.
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