A.S.W. dning? at Sav wt E.C? or E, PoW? Nt sn in public rms.
I stared across the desk at George. “How am I ever to determine what this means?”
He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin while he stared back at me. “The note Delaney showed you, about yourself. Was it written in this manner?”
“No.” I stared over his head at the bookshelves and tried to picture the note. “Well, some of the words were abbreviated but Graham’s name, and mine, were written out.”
“Like this?” Charles handed me a page from his file. I read it aloud.
“‘Lady Elinor Finch held a festive gala at the Royal Opera House last Christmas much to everyone’s delight—except the proprietors, who wonder if she’ll ever pay them.’ ”
I let out a snort of laughter before recovering myself. “Good heavens, how did Mary hear of this?” I handed the page to George. “And yes, that’s precisely how mine was written.”
George placed the coded note on the desk, facing Charles and me, and beckoned us closer. “Let’s try to decipher this one, shall we? The content may explain why she chose to record it in this manner.”
“The letters followed by periods are likely initials, don’t you think?” Charles looked at us for agreement.
“A.S.W.,” I read. “Alicia Stoke-Whitney?”
“Possible,” George muttered. “A number of E.C.s come to mind.”
“Oh, my goodness.” My hand rose involuntarily to my chest as I glanced at my companions. “There can be only one interpretation for the next set.”
“Edward, Prince of Wales.” Charles waved a dismissive hand. “No point blackmailing him. The man’s never in funds.”
“Then E.C. is likely Ernest Cassel.” George’s gaze darted between the two of us, seeking confirmation.
“Makes sense,” Charles agreed. “The two are close friends.”
“And bear a striking resemblance to one another.” Now that we’d identified the principals in the note, or at least guessed at them, it made more sense. “Look, she is questioning whether it was the prince or Cassel with Alicia. Since she mentions dining, Sav is probably the Savoy.”
“Dining is followed by a question mark and she further notes the couple was not seen in the public rooms of the hotel. Leading one to wonder where they disappeared to once inside.”
“Heavens, will Alicia never stop trifling with other women’s husbands?” Neither man answered my question. Likely because it was commonly known Alicia and my late husband had spent a great deal of time—trifling.
I pondered the note as I stared across the desk at George. “Alicia’s husband threatened her with divorce,” I said. “At least that’s what she told me a few months ago. This little story would certainly provide him with grounds.”
He pursed his lips. “The question is, does Alicia want to hold on to her husband, and reputation, enough to pay a blackmailer to keep this story quiet?”
“Or does the gentleman?” I asked.
He raised his brows. “I’d say that’s a contender.”
“I agree. The note about Lady Finch, while embarrassing, is hardly worthy of blackmail. Perhaps that’s why she didn’t bother disguising the note with this stenography-short writing code. Are all yours like that, Charles?”
He raised a few pages in his hand. “Everything I’ve read so far has been crystal clear and completely dull.”
I thumbed through mine. More abbreviations and seemingly random letters. “Well, unless Charles wants to trade files with me, I don’t see how I’ll get through this lot without a copy of Debrett’s.”
George held up his index finger as he stood. “I may have one here.”
I’d spoken in sarcasm, but on second thought, a guide to the peerage might come in handy. George found the book and dropped it with a thud on the desk beside the first suspicious letter.
“If you find any further likely suspects,” he said, tapping the first note, “stack them here and we’ll determine what to do about them when I return. In the meantime, if the two of you feel comfortable with this task, I’ll move on and see how the police are proceeding.”
Charles slapped another page upside down on the desk. “I haven’t found anything other than general gossip so far, but I do comprehend the assignment.”
George paused in his departure. Charles had spoken the words coldly enough to make me wonder if he were indeed angry with his friend. I gave George a smile and tipped my head toward the door. If my cousin had something on his mind, perhaps he’d tell me.
As soon as the door closed he glanced up at me, a scowl on his face. “Before you say it, I know I was rude. Hazelton’s trying to save my worthless neck, and I snapped at him.”
“I’d never call your neck worthless, but I agree with you otherwise. Why did you snap at him?”
He dropped the stack of paper into his lap. “He’s taking risks on my behalf while I am stuck here reading gossip.”
“He can hardly take you with him while Delaney still suspects you. You shouldn’t take offense.”
“I’m not taking offense. Hazelton is one of a very small group of people who don’t consider me a fool. He’s a good friend and I’m grateful for his help. I simply hate being in the position of needing it.”
“He’s helping because he knows you didn’t murder Mary.”
“Only because he doesn’t think I have the brains for it.”
My cheeks grew warm. That sounded closer to my opinion. I placed a hand on his arm. “You just said yourself he doesn’t consider you a fool. He simply knows you wouldn’t do such a thing. As for being in your present position”—I shrugged—“for that you must blame me. I should have stayed out of your affairs and let you find a lady to court on your own.”
“Come now, Cousin Frances, I asked for your help.” He gave me a crooked smile. “And I did like Mrs. Archer. She was charming, lovely. I just can’t reconcile that woman with someone who’d commit blackmail.”
He rubbed a hand across his cheek. “And on that subject, how is your stack progressing? Anything blackmail-worthy?”
“As you are well aware, I haven’t progressed past the first page.”
He leafed through his pages. “I seem to have nothing more than gossip here. Some of it common knowledge, even to me.” He held up a page to read. “ ‘Miss Leticia Stuart has chosen a rather unique way of refusing her suitor. While in private consultation with Mr. Frederick Thornton in her family’s garden, she pushed him into the fountain. Did the cold bath cool his ardor or will the gentleman return to request the hand of this saucy miss again?’ ”
I raised my brows. “Frederick Thornton. I’d have given him a dunking myself. Humorous, I suppose, but I doubt anyone would pay good money to keep that quiet. What else do you have?”
“Another damp story.” He shuffled through a few pages on top of his stack and pulled one out. “‘ In an attempt at gallantry, Clifford Worthington leapt from his carriage to rescue a lady’s hat from certain destruction as it blew along the path toward the serpentine. He managed to save the hat but not himself. The hapless gentleman tripped over a rock and dove straight into the water himself.’ ”
“Goodness, I am familiar with that story.” I frowned, trying to bring the details to mind. “Oh, yes. It was very embarrassing. Mr. Worthington is the father of my late sister-in-law. I can’t imagine what possessed him to attempt such a silly feat. The man is approaching sixty and quite stout. I wasn’t the only one laughing at the image of him running to catch up with the blowing hat.”
I couldn’t contain a smile at the thought. “Mrs. Worthington was furious. But that story was the buzz of town several months ago. If Mary had hoped to blackmail the man over this little on-dit, she left it too late.”
He waved a hand at the file. “So far everything I’ve read has been of this nature, a bit salacious or embarrassing, but generally well known.”
“Strange.” I dug a little deeper into my stack and pulled out a page with a story I could e
asily decipher. “Here is something I’m sure His Grace, the Duke of Manchester, would wish to keep quiet. It links him to M.A. and whoever she is, he would never want Miss Zimmerman to hear about it. Though, for my part, I think somebody should inform her of what a scoundrel he is. He’s only chasing after her money.”
Charles leaned his head against the back of the chair and stared up at the ceiling. “Yes, he’s only ever interested in women with money. This other woman is probably just a flirtation.”
“I doubt that would make a difference to Miss Zimmerman if she found out. It would still be an insult to her.”
“Why would he do it then? Do you think the story’s true?”
I gave him a one-shoulder shrug. “It’s believable, I’ll say that much. He can’t seem to help himself. He must marry money, but he can’t resist female attention.” I turned my gaze back to the file, but he wasn’t finished with the subject of the young duke.
“How do you know he must marry money?” He leaned forward to reach a bowl of fruit on the desk. I waved him off when he offered it to me and watched him choose an apple for himself.
“I suppose because he doesn’t hide the fact that he has little, if any, money of his own.” A little warning bell sounded in my head. Something was inconsistent here. I frowned at Charles who stared, his eyes wide and innocent. “He has no money,” I said. “In fact, he is likely deeply in debt. How could he pay a blackmailer?”
“Well, I don’t suppose he could. One does need money to pay a blackmailer. Or for anything else for that matter. One can’t pay for anything if one has no money. Terrible situation to be in.”
I held up a hand to stop him so I could think. “Manchester couldn’t afford to pay blackmail, so why would Mary even bother?”
“Would she know that?” He sunk his teeth into the apple with a loud crunch.
“I rather think so. It’s common knowledge.” I scanned the note again. “She’d be wasting her time blackmailing him.”
“Maybe she didn’t. She wasn’t one to waste her time.”
“Then why keep the note? Why take note of it in the first place?” I waved a hand toward his file. “Why gather any of that useless gossip?”
Charles had a mouthful of apple and held up a finger for me to wait. Since I didn’t really believe he had an answer, I posed another rhetorical question. “How did she come by all this information?”
This time he merely raised his shoulders. “No idea,” he said from the corner of his mouth.
“Well, at this point I can’t see Manchester as a likely suspect but I suppose I should place him in the possible stack.”
“Have you found any likely suspects?”
I gave him a scowl. “You’ve been next to me this whole time, Charles. You know I’ve read only two notes. The first page, yes. The second, doubtful. Why?”
He unfolded himself and rose to his feet. Stepping over to the fireplace, he tossed his apple core onto the grate. As it was unlikely George would have a fire in that grate for the next month or two, it was probably not the best place for food detritus, but I held my tongue.
He turned to face me. “I just keep wondering if Mrs. Archer was really blackmailing anyone.” He gestured to the file he’d left on the chair. “I’ve seen nothing in that file but gossip, most of it well known. I’ve even heard it before.” He waved a hand in my direction. “You’ve found one possibility and another that’s completely impossible. A blackmailer isn’t going to bother with an impoverished peer.”
“What other reason would she have for keeping all these notes? And you have only just begun to read your file as have I. We may run into many likely suspects.”
He stuffed his hands into his pockets, stared down at the carpet as he outlined the pattern with the toe of his shoe. “I suppose I really didn’t know her well enough to make a judgment about what she would or wouldn’t do, but Mary Archer a blackmailer? I don’t believe it.” He raised his gaze to mine. “How would she even go about it?”
A good question. “I suppose she could have contacted her victims through the post.”
“Her victims!” He raised his hands and face toward the ceiling. “Her victims. How ridiculous that sounds.”
Though not without sympathy, I was beginning to lose patience with the man. “Forgive me, Charles. I’m aware these people are not all innocents, but I don’t know what to call them other than victims.”
He waved a hand in my direction. “Apologies, Frances. I understand how odd it is that she collected all this information, but we all have idiosyncrasies. I can’t keep two thoughts in my head at the same time. You, it seems, dabble in solving crimes. The fact she collects gossip and scandal does not make her a blackmailer.”
“Perhaps, as we examine these files, we’ll find another reason for them. But remember, if she wasn’t blackmailing anyone, that makes you an even more likely suspect to the police.”
He twisted his lips into a sad half smile. “Point taken. I just wish there were another way to prove my innocence than ruining a dead woman’s reputation.”
He moved back to his seat, and we both continued with our reading. Over several hours and a few cups of tea, I’d gathered a small stack of possible blackmail victims while Charles continued to find none. While we shared the silence of the room, I pondered his questions. Where did this woman find the audacity to threaten so many prominent people with exposure unless they paid for her silence? This was so different from the woman I thought I knew.
And where did she find her information? Mary didn’t move about in society much, at least not as of late. Since her husband died, she lived a subdued life in a quiet part of town. I assumed she had a small income from her own family. Enough to allow her to live alone, but it would hardly provide for attending social events.
I worried my lower lip while I considered Charles’s defense of Mary. He’d made his case well. He’d planted a seed of doubt. And that was another thing that bothered me. He had made a good case. With barely a word of the gibberish I’d become used to hearing from him. Perhaps he was not as foolish as I’d thought.
Chapter 6
Several hours later, I left Charles in possession of George’s library since I could no longer focus on the words before me. Back home, I found Hetty relaxing on the sofa in the drawing room with a glass of some amber liquid.
When Aunt Hetty first arrived in London, I’d been surprised by her taste for strong spirits. I’ve since found they have something of a restorative value and from time to time I join her. I eyed her glass. Whisky or brandy? Either would be welcome at this point.
“Has Graham left already?” I moved directly to the drinks cabinet.
Hetty raised her brows. “He left about an hour ago. About the same time the girls returned. You’ve been gone for most of the day, dear.”
My gaze darted to the clock on the mantel. Goodness, nearly time for dinner already, yet we’d accomplished little to nothing. I decided on sherry and poured a small glass.
“You look rather done in,” Hetty said. “Come sit down and tell me what you’ve been doing all day.”
“Surprisingly little, considering how exhausted I feel.” I took a sip and seated myself next to my aunt.
“You mentioned reviewing some documents this morning.” She placed her glass on the tea table and turned her scrutiny on me. “What type of document could provide evidence of a murder? And why does Hazelton have them?”
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you what the documents are, but you know Mr. Hazelton occasionally works with the authorities when discretion is required. It is definitely required in this case, so he accepted the responsibility of reviewing the documents.” I gave her a helpless smile. “Sorry I don’t know what else to call them, but they’re of a very confidential nature and may lead us to another suspect.”
Hetty dropped her hands to her lap. “Do the police still believe Mr. Evingdon murdered her?”
“I don’t know if they actually believe it, but he is a suspect and
, at the moment, he’s rather an attractive suspect.” I took a sip of sherry. “Unfortunately, he was near her home the evening she was murdered. He also saw a man leaving Mrs. Archer’s house, and the police are checking into that as well. But until such time as they find the other man, or we find something in the documents that turns the direction of the investigation, Mr. Evingdon will remain under suspicion.”
“Then you must find something.”
I twisted around to find Lottie in the doorway. Heavens, how long had she been standing there?
“Why haven’t the police exonerated Mr. Evingdon by now?” she asked, stepping into the room. I winced as she banged her knee on the tea table but she seemed barely to notice.
“It’s not quite that simple, dear. I’m afraid a police investigation can take some time.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” she asked. “Mr. Evingdon could never do something so horrible.”
I was surprised by the conviction in her voice as well as her determined expression. Before I could reply, Mrs. Thompson ushered George into the room and I turned my attention to him. His weary step and troubled expression told me the heavy satchel in his hand wasn’t the only burden he carried.
“Ah, have you come to dine with us, Hazelton?” Hetty asked.
“Dine?” Lottie glared her outrage. “A man’s life may hang in the balance.”
George stared. Blinked. Then turned his gaze to Hetty. “Under other circumstances, I’d be delighted, but as it happens, I’m seeking only a moment of Lady Harleigh’s time.”
Hetty stood and took Lottie by the arm. “Dinner will be another quarter of an hour at least. We’ll just retire to the library and allow you use of the room.”
Lottie opened her mouth to speak but, with a tug from Hetty, allowed herself to be led from the room. I gestured for George to take a seat beside me and inclined my head toward the satchel. “Has something developed?”
He slumped down beside me. “Not as much as I’d like. I visited the coroner this morning for further details of Mrs. Archer’s murder. Since then I’ve been focused on identifying the man Evingdon saw leaving her house.” His lips compressed in a thin line. “If she was spending time with another gentleman, they were both very discreet about it. No one has heard of anyone connected to her.”
A Lady's Guide to Gossip and Murder Page 6