“Well, Mr. Ryan, we’re here regarding the Miss Information column. So, I’m sure you understand our need for confidentiality.”
He eyed us suspiciously as he rose to his feet. “Yes, ma’am. If you’ll just take a seat,” he said, indicating a row of three straight-backed chairs stuffed between an empty coatrack and the door. “I’ll see if he’s in.” He backed away and turned into a hallway behind his desk.
“I think you rather intimidated the poor boy,” I whispered.
George’s lips moved, but his response was overpowered by shouting from the hallway. “Some reporter you’ll make if you can’t even learn someone’s name! You’d be better on the street hawking papers.”
We barely had time to exchange a glance before Mr. Ryan returned and made a beckoning gesture. “Please follow me. I’ll show you to Mr. Mosley’s office.”
We followed him down a short hall and made a left turn at the first door. Hardly worth the escort. Mr. Mosley, a portly man perhaps in his late thirties, with side whiskers and a beard, rose from behind a cluttered desk as we walked in. George stepped forward, shook the man’s hand, gave his name, and introduced me as Mrs. Smith.
“How can I be of help to you?” he asked, indicating with a sweep of his hand that we should take the two chairs opposite his desk and sat back down. “And what are you hanging around for?”
Mr. Ryan jumped and dashed down the hall.
“Useless git.” Mosley dragged his bulk from behind the desk and shut the door.
“We’re here about my sister, Mrs. Archer.” I settled into the chair while George remained on his feet. “She was working with your colleague, Mr. Norton.”
“Yes?” His expectant gaze darted between the two of us as he lumbered back to his chair.
“Are your familiar with the Miss Information column?” George asked.
The man pulled at his collar. “Familiar, yes, but we aren’t running that column any longer.”
A hint of suspicion lit his eyes as a grin spread across his face. “Wait! Your sister, you say? Come now, are you her?” He grasped my hand and pumped it with enthusiasm.
George leaned over the desk between us. “This is not Miss Information.”
Mr. Mosley released my hand.
“My sister, Mary Archer, held that position.”
Mosley hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his waistcoat, his grin fading. “Well, if she’s willing to work with me, I’ll be happy to keep the column going.”
“That won’t be possible,” George said. “I’m afraid she’s deceased.”
“The writer? She’s dead, too?”
“Not just dead,” I replied. “Murdered.”
“The police didn’t say anything about that.” Mosley sank back into his chair. “Did you say ‘Archer’? We ran a story about her murder. I didn’t know she was Miss Information.”
“They hadn’t tied the crimes together yet. My sister was writing her column in secret after all.”
“That’s true enough. Norton kept everything on the quiet about her. I had no idea how to find her to collect her columns, and she never showed up here. So now what? The police think whoever done him in killed her, too?”
“It would seem so,” George put in smoothly. “What day was Norton murdered?”
Mosley leaned back and crossed his arms over his girth. “Tuesday, though I’m not sure why that’s any of your business.”
“I’m investigating on behalf of my client.” He tipped his head in my direction. “I’d like to hear anything and everything you can tell me about the arrangement between Mr. Norton and Mrs. Archer.”
“Why should I tell you? The police already came around. I answered their questions.”
George placed his hands on the desk and loomed over it. “Are you daft, man? They weren’t aware of the connection. It took Mrs. Smith to uncover that information. The police will likely be back with more questions, but this is her sister. She deserves to know if Mrs. Archer lost her life because of her employment with this newspaper.”
Two beads of moisture popped up on Mosley’s forehead. He raised his hands, palms out. “All right, all right. Like I said, Mr. Norton kept everything about that column to himself. He was the editor and he did things his way. I only worked for him and he didn’t bother explaining himself, just made decisions. Like that poor excuse for a clerk up front. A thief is what he is. Tried to pick Norton’s pocket, and instead of having him arrested, Norton gives him a job. Takes him off the streets and puts him on a desk. Now I’m stuck with him, the useless git.”
This sounded like a favorite refrain of Mr. Mosley’s.
George took a seat and crossed his arms. “About the column?”
“It was just gossip, right? About posh folk. Most of them liked being talked about.” He shrugged. “Never had any trouble. No one coming in screaming for a retraction. No one threatening to sue. Can’t imagine someone wanting to kill the two of them for what they wrote.”
“How long was she writing it?”
Now that George was seated, Mosley seemed more relaxed. He scratched his head as he did some mental calculations. “Close to a year by my reckoning.”
“Goodness, how did they manage to keep her identity quiet for so long?” I asked.
“Well, seems like they didn’t, don’t it? I mean, someone found out, didn’t they?”
“It would seem so,” George said. “How did Mrs. Archer deliver the columns?”
“Norton picked them up from her twice a week. Paid her the same way—in cash, mind you. Like I said, he was real secretive about her. I don’t think she ever came around here, but since I didn’t know who she was, I can’t really say.”
“Did he leave anything lying about his office? Did the police search it?”
“They did. Took whatever they needed, I suppose. Want to have a gander?”
We certainly did. Mr. Mosley led us to Mr. Norton’s office, which was immediately across the hallway. It appeared after the police did their search someone had come in and cleaned up. The desk was pristine. Books on the shelves. Copies of the newspaper stacked neatly on a table. Nothing to indicate someone had recently worked in this office.
George stepped around the desk and opened drawers. Except for a few pens and pencils, and an unused stack of paper, they were all empty.
Mosley shrugged. “The owners came in after the police. Guess they wanted the place cleaned up. Still have a paper to put out, you know.”
“Was Mr. Norton married?”
“Naw, career man, he was. Always chasing a story.”
“Where did he live?”
Using the pencil and paper from the drawer, Mosley wrote down the editor’s address. George glanced around the room with an air of disappointment until his gaze landed on a closet door. He opened the door, peeked inside, released a tsk, and returned to the desk to take the address from Mosley.
“Like I said, they cleaned the place.” Mosley shrugged. “If you two are done here, I’ve work to do.” He started out of the office, then stopped and turned back, fingers stroking his beard. “That column was real popular, you know? Sold a lot of papers.” He lifted a brow and leveled a gaze at me. “Don’t suppose you know anyone who’d like to take it on?”
I bristled at the suggestion. Indeed, I did not. Before I could express my indignation, George touched my arm.
“That’s not such a bad idea,” he said.
“You can’t be serious. In what way is my writing a gossip column not a bad idea?”
“Whoever murdered Mrs. Archer and Mr. Norton probably wanted to keep something from being printed. If the column continues, the murderer may believe the secrets he worked so hard to keep may still see the light of day.” He raised his brows. “It might be enough to flush him out.”
My jaw slackened as I stared. “Out where? I have no wish to draw a murderer to my home.”
Mr. Mosley held up a hand to calm my indignation. “Only the three of us will ever know who’s writing the columns, and I�
��ll never give you away. Under threat of death I’ll never give you away.”
George waved the man’s words aside. “Yes, yes, we have complete faith in your integrity, Mosley.”
I gaped. Did we now?
“Hear me out. I don’t know what the owners are going to do about Norton’s job, but I’ll admit I wouldn’t mind stepping into it. That column sold papers, and it’d be a feather in my cap if I could bring it back. I can promise you no one will ever learn your name.”
“That’s very admirable, Mr. Mosley,” I said. “But the threat of death is a definite possibility. Someone murdered the last editor, and my sister, over this column. Surely a promotion isn’t worth your life.”
“I worked my way up to this job.” Mosley puffed out his chest, a fond smile in place. “The things I used to do to get a story.” He chuckled. “Let’s just say I know how to take care of myself.”
“Regardless, Mrs. Smith is right. Have you done anything to secure the building since Mr. Norton was murdered?”
“My old firearm’s in my desk drawer,” he said.
“I’d prefer to have a constable stationed here,” George said. “I’ll talk to Delaney.”
Mr. Mosley had an eager glint in his eyes. “So, you’ll do it? I could come by every Tuesday and Friday to pick ’em up, same as Norton did.”
“That won’t be necessary,” I said, still not certain I wanted any part of this. “I’ll have someone drop them off.”
“What’s your deadline for tomorrow’s paper?” George asked.
“Usually six o’clock, but if you’re certain you can bring it by, I’ll hold a spot open until ten. Then it has to go to print.”
George nodded. “I’ll bring it.”
As our business was concluded, George rose to his feet. I placed a hand on his arm and turned to Mosley. “You said Mr. Norton picked up the columns from Mrs. Archer on Tuesdays and Fridays? Did he pick up the columns this past Tuesday?”
“Of course. Just like usual. Went to her house, then brought ’em back here to work’em up. There were only two on his desk though, so we could only run the column through Thursday.”
George and I exchanged a glance. Was Norton the man Charles had seen leaving Mary’s house that night? I turned back to Mr. Mosley.
“Could you describe Mr. Norton for me?”
Chapter 13
Mosley provided a very detailed description of Mr. Norton. We also learned that he’d been carrying an umbrella when he left the office Tuesday evening to retrieve Mary’s columns, as was the man Charles had seen. Though since it had been raining, off and on, that evening, anyone out of doors would likely have had one on hand.
George used the telephone on the editor’s desk to place a call to Inspector Delaney, leaving a message about the possible identity of the man seen leaving Mary’s house on Tuesday.
“If Evingdon is still under suspicion, the fact that Norton was also at Mrs. Archer’s home should help his case,” he said as we returned to his carriage. “The police really have no other evidence with which to accuse him.”
He assisted me into the carriage and settled in beside me. “I’m not so sure about your theory,” I said, the carriage rocking as we moved into the street. “If the man Charles saw at Mary’s house was only her editor, picking up her columns, then no one saw the murderer. Wouldn’t that make Delaney even more suspicious of Charles?”
“But if he did pick up the columns, then Mrs. Archer was alive at the time your cousin drove past. And I now have a connected crime to investigate, which I hope will provide more evidence. I can’t believe the police allowed Norton’s office to be cleaned and cleared.” He sighed. “But I have a contact at Bow Street who may be able to tell me what they know about that murder—any evidence found, who they interviewed. We’ll see where that leads us. And I have yet to search Mrs. Archer’s home.” His eyes fairly sparkled with the thrill of the chase. “So, all is not lost. Though I do wish we’d known about her connection to that column before the newspaper stopped printing them.”
“I could probably make some comment in the column I write, explaining the omission of the four issues. Although unless I can write a column by this evening, I’ll be explaining the absence of five.”
“Let’s think about this a moment.” His brow furrowed. “We’re assuming since both Mary and her editor were murdered, the killer knows she wrote the column, and the column had something to do with the murder.”
“You suggested he was trying to stop something from coming to light.”
“Yet you didn’t find anything inflammatory in her files.”
“I beg your pardon. We found a great deal of inflammatory information, but it was marked Do not use. Additionally, I have yet to review everything in those files. As Lottie transcribes them into plain English, I try to provide the names from the initials Mary wrote. From there I work off Lily’s invitation list of who is and isn’t in town in order to eliminate suspects.” I shrugged. “It’s a slow process. I’d say we’re only about halfway through the notes. But if you believe one of those notes is tied to the killer, then we have a great deal of work to do as there are still many notes to review.”
I shook my head. This task seemed endless. “And now I must write a gossip column.” I paused as a thought struck me. “Oh, dear, I neglected to ask Mr. Mosley what I’m to be paid for my work.”
George gave me a look of incredulity.
I drew back and squared my jaw. “Well, I’d like to know what I’m worth. Though I suppose it’s of no matter as it’s only temporary.”
He smiled as he reached for my hand, entwining his fingers with mine and placing a soft kiss on my gloved fingertips. “You are worth everything to me,” he said.
I gazed into his eyes, certain mine were filled with longing. I didn’t want to move, or breathe, or do anything to break the spell of this moment. I’d never been worth everything to anyone before.
He leaned forward, his brows drawn close. “Frances, are you well?”
“Well?” Good heavens, how long had I been staring at him? Mooning over him, really. Flustered, I glanced out the window. We’d already stopped in front of my house.
I turned back to George. “Are you coming in?”
He flashed me a charming smile. “No, I’m afraid you’ve far too much work to do.”
“You’re not going to assist me?”
“Me? No, I’ll be busy as well, investigating the second crime.”
He reached across me and opened the carriage door, eager to leave me and get on with his work. “I can’t thank you enough, Frances. Your assistance in this case has been invaluable.”
My assistance was invaluable? I threw him a glare before climbing down to the street and saw his expression of confusion as I slammed the door. Guilt assailed me. I suppose it wasn’t his fault I let my imagination carry me away.
* * *
I let myself into the house. Pulling the pins from my hat, I left it on a table in the entryway. When I turned to the open doors of the drawing room, it was to see all of my houseguests, plus Charles, gathered there.
“Goodness, is it time for dinner already?” I hadn’t thought it was quite that late, but a glance at the clock on the mantel told me it was half past seven and I was still in my funeral clothes from the morning. Well, Bridget would be back by now, so I had just enough time to change.
Before I could excuse myself, Lily’s voice rang out. “Where have you been?”
She’d risen to her feet, planted her hands on her hips, and with the scowl she wore, resembled nothing so much as our mother. Quite frankly, the image stirred rather unpleasant sensations.
“I’ve been to the offices of the Daily Observer,” I said. “Though I’m not aware I was required to apprise you of my whereabouts.”
She had the sense to look abashed, but only for a moment. “When I came home you were nowhere to be found. Lottie told me she last saw you a full two hours earlier, locked up in the drawing room with Mr. Hazelton a
nd Inspector Delaney. No one had any idea where you’d gone.”
The three other occupants of the room inched away from us. Charles tugged at his collar. All were uncomfortably aware of the tension between us. I forced a smile. “Mr. Hazelton and I had an errand to run. If you’ll allow me to freshen up, I’ll come back and explain.”
“You’ve been working on this investigation again, is that it?” Lily had seated herself and appeared somewhat mollified, but her voice still scolded. “This work is taking more and more of your time.”
I frowned. “Is there something I’ve neglected to do?”
“Well, I had hoped you’d join me for dinner with Mrs. Kendrick this evening. We are to go over some of the plans for the engagement party.”
A moment’s panic rushed through me. How had I forgotten a dinner engagement? “Lily, I’m so sorry, I must have neglected to post it to my schedule. When did you tell me of this?”
“She didn’t tell you,” Hetty said, with a sharp glance at Lily. “Mrs. Kendrick sent over a note this morning asking the two of you to come for dinner. I told her she could hardly expect you to be available at the drop of a hat, so I am going in your stead.”
I stared at my sister in amazement. “You are angry with me about missing an engagement you never told me about?”
Lily shrugged. “I would have told you but you were out pursuing criminals all day.”
“I was at a funeral.” It was absurd to argue with her. “Thank you, Hetty, for standing in for me this evening.” I turned to Charles and Lottie. “I am hoping to enlist your aid on our investigation this evening.” Lily huffed in exasperation. I ignored her.
After obtaining Lottie’s and Charles’s agreement, I left the room to go upstairs and change my gown. And to quiz Bridget, who waited for me at my dressing room door.
“I already picked out a dress for you, my lady.” She swept an arm toward the gown laid out on the bed. “I hope it’s all right as you barely have time to change.”
“It will do perfectly, Bridget.” We both set about removing the serviceable gown I’d been wearing all day, which as it turned out, had been a good choice for visiting the newspaper office as Mary’s sister.
A Lady's Guide to Gossip and Murder Page 14