William added, “Thus ruining her life, because there is no chance now of her reputation being salvaged. Had St. Vincent lived, she might have been able to convince him to do the right thing.”
Amy stirred the cream and sugar in her tea. “I had wondered whether we should visit with Miss Hemphill ourselves or give the information to the detectives. But I no longer trust them with this information. They will find some way to turn this into a condemnation of me.”
William offered her a sad smile. “I am afraid you are right. They are conducting this investigation with horse blinders on. They refuse to see anyone except you.”
“I shall bring the note to Miss Hemphill’s house and confront her with it. It sounds as though she is at a breaking point and might just confess.” Amy shook her head. “I do feel sorry for the girl. She made a mistake and might have compounded her error by committing murder. I can only hope the law goes easier on women than they do on men.”
“I am still curious as to how the detectives knew about Mr. Harris and his seeing you at the Pump House, proposing marriage, and dancing with you.”
“I would say they are either following me or him.”
“Either way, if Miss Hemphill is our guilty party, we must move quickly, or I am afraid you will receive another summons from the detectives with a directive to bring your barrister with you.”
* * *
Two o’clock the following day, William arrived at Winchester House to make a visit to Miss Hemphill. It had taken Amy some time to find Miss Hemphill’s direction. But apparently her driver was friends with a hackney driver who knew Miss Hemphill’s flat.
“Do you have the note that was sent about St. Vincent’s involvement in drugs?” William asked as the carriage rolled away from her townhouse. Unlike the previous few days, the weather was now soggy and chilly. Any hint of spring had vanished along with the sun and sweet-smelling flowers.
Amy patted her reticule. “Yes, I do.” She pulled her coat close against her body and shivered. “I will be quite pleased when the warmer weather arrives and then remains. This back-and-forth with a touch of spring and then a return to colder weather is depressing.”
They remained quiet for the rest of the trip, with Amy huddled in the corner watching the raindrops slide down the window. William was lost in his thoughts and studied his hands, fingers linked together, resting in his lap.
Amy turned toward William. “I do hope we are not turned away. I’m afraid I might make a ninny of myself and force my way into her house.” When he did not answer, she said, “You are exceptionally quiet. Is anything wrong?”
William shook his head. “No. I just have this feeling that we are missing something. I’m running the suspects through my mind and feel as though I am looking at a puzzle with a piece missing of which I should be aware. Something that caught my eye at one point that slithered away, and now I can no longer recall.”
“My, that sounds quite ominous. I, on the other hand, am hoping this visit to Miss Hemphill will clear it all up and I can go back to thinking about fictional murders, not real ones where I am the main suspect.”
The neighborhood had gone from upper crust to lower middle class. The homes were smaller, one or two streetlights were broken, and in another block or two they would be in the lower end of Bath. The area where one did not travel after dark. Amy looked out the window. “I do hope we are almost there.”
“Based on the neighborhood, I must admit I feel the same way.”
“We should have brought a gun.”
“No.” The word had no sooner left William’s mouth than the carriage rolled to a stop. “It appears we have arrived.”
He climbed out and took the umbrella from the driver, turned, and helped Amy out of the vehicle. They made their way up the path to the front door. The steps were cracked and in need of repair, and it had clearly been some time since the wooden door was painted.
“Do you know anything about Miss Hemphill’s financial state?” William asked as he dropped the knocker on the door.
Amy shook her head. “Only that she didn’t have enough blunt to bail out St. Vincent’s business, which is why he proposed to me, I assume. There could be no other reason, because we hardly had a fancy for each other.”
Slowly the door opened, and a young girl peered out at them. She was no more than sixteen years old, with short, blonde curly hair hidden unsuccessfully under a white mobcap. “Yes, sir.”
“Lord Wethington and Lady Amy Lovell calling on Miss Hemphill.” He held out his card to the girl.
She stared at it for a moment as if she expected it to bite her. “Miss Hemphill rents a room here. I can take your card and knock on her door.”
“That’s fine.” When she continued to stare at them, William said, “May we come in to wait? It is rather wet out here.”
“Oh, yes, of course, my lord. Please accept my apologies.” She stepped back to allow them to enter. William closed the umbrella and, not seeing an umbrella stand, leaned it against a corner wall.
“I will be just a minute.”
Amy pulled the collar of her coat closer. ’Twas quite cold in the house, and that, combined with her wet clothes, brought on a chill.
They waited about five minutes before the girl returned. “I am sorry, m’lord, but Miss Hemphill is not answering her door.”
“Did she go out?”
“No. I am sure she did not, because I brought her soup and bread for her lunch since she said she was feeling poorly. I would have heard her come down the stairs, since I’ve been working in the parlor and dining room since then.”
Frustrated, Amy glanced over at William. She had no intention of leaving without speaking to the woman. “Would it be permissible for us to try to rouse her? It is quite important that we speak with her. Perhaps she is taking a nap.”
The girl looked confused at their question but eventually shrugged. “Mrs. Hubbard, the landlady, isn’t at home for me to ask, but I guess it would be all right.”
They climbed the stairs, the worn wood creaking and groaning with their weight as they made their way up. “Which door?” William called down to the girl, who had remained at the entranceway.
“Second one on the right.”’
“Thank you.” They found the correct door, and Amy knocked. “Miss Hemphill?”
No answer.
“Miss Hemphill,” William said as he knocked a bit harder.
No answer.
They tried three more times until finally Amy said, “Try the door latch.”
William turned the latch, and the door opened. They slowly walked into the dim room.
It was a cold, stark space. Very little in the way of personal belongings were strewn about. There was a rickety dresser, a small desk and chair, and nothing covering the bare wooden floor. Peeling wallpaper, wet from where water leaked from the window frame, gave the room a sad, neglected feeling.
No fire blazed in the fireplace, which was no surprise, since only the wealthy were able to enjoy a fire all day long.
They walked toward the bed in the center of the room. The murky afternoon sky visible from the window cast a dim light on the lump lying on top of the worn bedcover. Amy called Miss Hemphill’s name and touched her on the shoulder.
The cold, stiff shoulder, belonging to a very dead Miss Hemphill.
CHAPTER 19
Amy stepped back so abruptly she trounced on William’s foot. If he hadn’t caught her by the arms, she would have tumbled to the floor, possibly knocking them both down. “Oh, dear.” She took in a deep breath. “I believe she’s dead.”
William eased her aside and looked down at the woman. Her eyes were closed, her face in peaceful repose. He felt her wrist, then the side of her neck. No pulse. “Yes. I’m afraid she is dead.”
Amy fought down the nausea rising up the back of her throat. To distract herself, she looked around. “We need some light.”
“Wait here.” William moved away.
She grabbed his arm, s
uddenly afraid to be alone. “Where are you going?”
“To find the maid who let us in. She will be able to supply us with a lamp, or even a candle.”
Amy shook her head. “No. Not yet. Once you notify the maid, she will probably have hysterics that we will have to deal with, and then she will immediately send—or have someone send—for the police. I want to look around before the police step in.”
William ran his fingers through his hair. “You’re probably correct. But we still need some light.”
“We’ll move the drapes aside from the other two windows, and with the light from the street, maybe we can find a lamp or candle.”
Their search turned up two candle stumps and one empty oil lamp. “You take one candle and I’ll take the other.”
They began to methodically search the room. From what they discovered, Miss Hemphill had lived right on the poverty line. There was a small amount of food—half a loaf of bread, a wrapped block of cheese, a few mint candies, and a small container of tea. Certainly not the robust diet an expectant woman needed. She had only two dresses, both of which had seen better days, but Amy did recognize one of the dresses as the one she’d worn to Lady Ambrose’s sewing circle.
Amy blew out her candle stub, which had burned uncomfortably close to her fingers, and moved to the middle of the room. She placed her hands on her hips, turning in a slow circle, studying the area. “What I don’t understand is why a woman with so very little would be sewing garments for the poor.”
“Perhaps she wasn’t always in dire straits.” William rubbed a circle on the dirty window and looked outside. “You did say you were not familiar with her prior to Mr. St. Vincent’s death.”
“You are correct. The first time I heard her name was when someone told me she had been expecting a proposal from Mr. St. Vincent before he made his offer of marriage to me.
“If she came from a respectable family and found herself in a family way, there is a good chance they cast her out.” She turned and looked again at Miss Hemphill. “Poor woman. ’Tis such a shame that society looks down on a woman for making a mistake, but the gentleman’s actions are never called to account.”
“Did you find Miss Hemphill?” The maid from downstairs walked into the room, took one look at the dead body on the bed, and screamed loud enough to raise Miss Hemphill from her eternal sleep. She threw her apron over her face and continued to scream. “She’s dead! I saw a dead person.”
Amy cast an I told you so glance at William. Looking very uncomfortable, he nodded toward the maid, and Amy took a deep breath and approached the girl. “Miss, you must calm yourself.”
She stopped wailing long enough to peek at Amy from under her apron. “Did you kill her?”
Amy was getting mighty tired of people accusing her of murder. Did she look so very minacious, then? “No, I did not kill her. And his lordship did not kill her either. She was decidedly dead when we arrived.”
The maid began to shake. “I never saw a dead person before, milady, so you must excuse me. I meant no disrespect.”
Amy, on the other hand, was afraid discovering dead bodies might become a habit of hers. She patted the girl on the back. “Do you have someone you can send to the police department?”
She bobbed. “Yes, milady, I can send the man Mrs. Hubbard keeps around to do the heavy chores.”
William stepped over to where they stood. “Would you please send for the police, then? And I think perhaps, given the circumstances, Mrs. Hubbard would allow you a short tea break.”
The maid’s eyes grew wide. “Do you think so, m’lord? She’s not too fond of work breaks.”
“I think so. I will speak to her when she returns—do you know when she is expected?”
She shrugged. “Not too long, I would think. She was going to walk to the shops.” The girl glanced furtively at the body on the bed and shuddered.
“’Tis probably a good idea to send for the police and have your tea.” Amy placed her arm around the maid’s shoulders and moved her toward the door. They could hear the girl’s mumbling as she headed down the stairs.
William walked to the bed and leaned over Miss Hemphill’s body. He took a sniff and stepped back. Amy joined him. “What?”
“Take a whiff of her mouth and tell me if what I smell is correct.”
Amy leaned over and took in a deep breath. She turned to William, and they both said, “Pennyroyal.”
After scrounging around the room, they found a tattered blanket, which they used to cover the body. Then they went downstairs to await the police. As much as Amy hated to be here when the police arrived, she really had no choice. They would track her down anyway.
“With your logical, deductive mind, Amy, what do you make of the pennyroyal?” William rested his foot on his bent knee.
They sat in the drawing room right off the main entrance. The maid was nowhere in sight, so they had the room to themselves. “I’m thinking one of two things. Suicide or abortion.”
“Or perhaps both.” He smirked in her direction. “I don’t suppose I should be surprised that you even know about abortion and that pennyroyal has a reputation for being able to rid a woman of a baby.”
“Research.”
He nodded. “If it was suicide, then why not drown herself? I would think it less messy and not quite as painful. Although I imagine it’s not too easy to actually drown, unless you go deep and cannot swim.”
“Actually, it is not very difficult to drown oneself. When the body hits cold water, you automatically gasp; it’s a reflex, so when you fall in, you gasp and inhale water. The sudden coldness of the ingested water can also cause the throat to seize. Then, even if you can survive that part of it, the amount of clothing we wear would make it almost impossible to swim to the top, make it to the edge of the river or lake, and climb out onto a slippery embankment.”
William just stared at her. Then he shook his head as if to clear it. “Research?”
“Just so.”
A loud banging on the front door had them both jumping up from their seats. The maid was still absent, so William opened the door.
Amy groaned as Detective Marsh and Detective Carson strolled into the room. “Well, well. Why am I not surprised that Lady Amy and Lord Wethington are keeping another dead body company?” Carson grinned at her as Detective Marsh flipped open his notepad.
Botheration. Were there no other detectives in the Bath police department?
“Where is the dead body this time?” Marsh’s snide remark had Amy fisting her hands, wanting to smack the smug look off his face.
“This time, the body is upstairs in Miss Hemphill’s room.” She raised her chin. “I will be happy to accompany you.”
They all trooped upstairs. Amy and William stepped back and allowed the detectives to precede them. “We need more light,” Detective Marsh grumbled.
“I will see if I can find the maid who let us in. We were only able to find two candle stubs.”
“Not to be doing any investigation, correct?” Carson growled in her direction.
Amy sniffed. “Of course not.” She glanced at William before hurrying downstairs. Just as she reached the entrance, an older woman opened the front door and stepped inside. She was plump of body and her face was flushed. She came to an abrupt halt when she saw Amy. “Who are you? Where’s Sally?”
“Good afternoon, ma’am. I assume you are Mrs. Hubbard?” When the woman nodded, Amy continued, “I am Lady Amy Lovell, and is Sally the maid who answered the door?”
“Yes.” Mrs. Hubbard set down the basket she carried, spilling over with goods, and began to unbutton her coat. “Now why are you in my house?”
“My friend, Lord Wethington”—it never hurt to toss out a title—“and I came to call on Miss Hemphill, who I am afraid has met with …” Amy struggled with how to say what they’d found. Or how to tell the woman that the police were upstairs and her maid was probably taking a much needed, but probably unauthorized, tea break.
�
�With what?”
She let out a deep breath. “With her end.”
“End of what?”
How to get her point across without having to deal with another hysterical female? “I am sorry to say Miss Hemphill is no longer with us.”
“She moved out?”
Bloody hell! Amy never cursed, but this was too much. Well, there was nothing to be done about it. “Miss Hemphill is dead, Mrs. Hubbard.”
“Well, why didn’t you say so, girl?” She hung her coat on a hook by the door. “Where’s Sally?”
Well, then. Apparently they were not to be subjected to another overwrought outburst. Perhaps Mrs. Hubbard was not unfamiliar with tenants turning up their toes on the premises. The life of a landlady, perhaps.
“Sally was a bit emotional at the death of Miss Hemphill, and Lord Wethington suggested she take a short break from her duties to have a cup of tea.”
Mrs. Hubbard raised her brows. “And will his lordship offer some blunt for the time Sally’s been sitting on her arse instead of working?”
“If you require compensation for the young lady’s time, I will be happy to reimburse you. She was quite distraught.”
Mrs. Hubbard picked up her basket and huffed. “She is always distraught.” She walked a few steps and turned. “Did you notify the police?”
“Yes, ma’am. They are upstairs right now.”
The woman shook her head and continued down the corridor to what Amy assumed was the kitchen.
Remembering what she had come downstairs for, Amy followed the woman as she lumbered away. “Mrs. Hubbard?”
“Yes.” She didn’t stop.
“The police need more light upstairs. Do you have an oil lamp or more candles?”
The landlady placed her basket on the long wooden table and glared at the maid. “Sally, it’s time to return to your work. I ain’t paying you to sit around and ‘recover’ from the shock of a dead body.”
A Study in Murder Page 19