It was done just in time. As soon as Anna was gone, the housekeeper arrived, saying deferentially that Lady Walter was not well enough to come downstairs and had sent her to see to Mrs. Adler. That made Lily’s racing thoughts pause—either Serena was far angrier than she had thought, or she was genuinely ill. Both possibilities left Lily worried, but the news of the general’s murder did not leave enough time for her to think the matter through yet. It was several minutes before Lily could assure the servants that she was well enough to go home by herself, but when she agreed to accept the offer of Serena’s carriage, they relented. Lily was handed in, Anna climbing up beside her and whispering that Jem was doing as Mrs. Adler had bid.
Lily waited until she was several blocks away before giving the driver a new direction.
Ten minutes later, Lily left Anna to wait in the carriage and knocked on the Harpers’ front door with no idea what she was going to do next.
The young footman who answered her knock seemed equally unprepared to deal with the situation. He stared at her, confused, for a long moment. “I don’t think the family is receiving right now,” he said at last, eyes wide and flustered as he glanced around the street. “I’ll tell them— I’ll let my mistress know you called, Miss— Mrs.—” He stumbled over his words, swallowing and casting about for someone to help him.
“Lily!” Miss Harper’s voice cut through the footman’s uncertainty, and Lily took immediate advantage of the opportunity to brush past him. “You heard?”
“I could not believe it when I did; I had to come straightaway. Oh, Isobel, how dreadful! What can I do?”
It was what a friend would ask, and part of Lily’s mind was appalled that her question was not more genuine. But even as she spoke, she took stock of the house, eyeing the frantic, hushed movement of servants and noting the way Miss Harper’s voice trembled.
“I cannot even begin to …” Miss Harper trailed off helplessly, and she took a deep breath. “Reggie is home, thank God, and handling things as best he can. But what can one … it is too terrible. They have sent for a Runner from Bow Street, of course, but what on earth are we to say? None of us knows what happened, and …” She trailed off, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth and shaking all over.
“First you must sit down. You’ve had a terrible shock.” Lily glanced over her shoulder to summon the footman with an impatient look. Springing into action, he helped her guide Miss Harper into the morning room, which a glance around told her also doubled as a small study. Once his mistress was settled, he seemed at a loss once more, hovering until Lily sent him off for a glass of Madeira wine.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Lily asked as gently as possible once they were alone. “Talking might help you calm down before the Runners get here.”
“There is not much to say.” Miss Harper twisted her handkerchief. “I came down this morning, as I usually do. Reggie was still abed—he never wakes before eleven and usually not until noon. I saw the door to Uncle Alfred’s study—” She broke off with a gasp. Lily stood immediately, looking for something to help. There was a silver vinaigrette bottle on the writing desk nearby, which she held under Miss Harper’s nose. The sharp smell of the salts cleared the other woman’s head, and she managed to rally and continue. “The door to Uncle Alfred’s study was open. He never likes to have anyone in there but himself, barely even lets the servants clean it, so I went to see if one of them had gone in. And I found …” She shook her head, pressing the handkerchief to her mouth.
“You found your uncle?” Lily asked gently as she went to replace the smelling salts on the desk. As she did so, her eyes lingered over the letters scattered there, half a dozen of them addressed to Isobel Harper, the postage franked by Sir Andrew Kettering, Christopher Kettering’s father. Another stack of letters, tucked behind the first, made her frown. The hand looked masculine, but far more scrawling than young Mr. Kettering’s firm style. Another one was only half written; one of the Harper siblings must have been interrupted in the middle of their correspondence and had pulled a blank sheet up to cover most of the letter’s contents.
“He was slumped over his desk, and the door to the garden was open.” Miss Harper’s quavering voice recalled Lily to what she was doing, and she sat down once more. “Mrs. Adler, you cannot begin to imagine … Reggie thinks a burglar must have surprised my uncle and shot him in a panic. How could such a terrible thing happen?”
“Makes a chap wonder what we pay those Bow Street fellows for if criminals still wander around, shooting gentlemen in their own homes,” Reggie Harper sauntered in as he spoke and bowed, his eyes on Lily. He smiled in a manner that was far too flirtatious for someone whose uncle had just been killed. “Mrs. Adler. A pleasure to see you once more.”
Miss Harper swayed. “Did you see Daniel in the hall, Reggie? He was supposed to fetch me a glass of Madeira.” She shuddered. “Will you hand me the vinaigrette again, please? I know it must be my imagination, but I almost think I can still smell the gunpowder …”
“I am sure he’s on his way,” Mr. Harper said, carelessly tossing his sister the bottle, which she fumbled to catch. “Never known you to be squeamish about guns before, Iz.”
“My previous experience with them has not involved the murder of my uncle,” Miss Harper answered faintly, closing her eyes and breathing deeply as she swayed back against her chair.
“Lord, no, I suppose not. Lucky we weren’t all murdered in our beds,” Mr. Harper said with a grim laugh. “And how are you today, Mrs. Adler?”
“Dreadfully shocked.” Lily didn’t try to keep the chill from her voice. “You have my deepest sympathies, Mr. Harper.”
“Awfully good of you to say so, Mrs. Adler.” Mr. Harper was not bothered by her unspoken admonition. Lily had the feeling he spent most of his life not hearing any censure directed his way. “Of course we are terribly upset, are we not, Iz?” He gave his sister’s shoulder a lazy pat. “Uncle Alfred was a miserly, grumpy old fellow, and neither of us much liked him, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to go shooting him. Especially not in his own home. Damned indecent, that.”
“To say the least.” Lily’s eyes narrowed. Luckily, at that moment, Daniel the footman returned with a decanter of wine and several glasses, preventing her from saying anything further. Instead, she studied the siblings as Mr. Harper poured out the wine, handing a glass first to Miss Harper, who looked faint once again, before offering one to Lily. She had never thought the Harper family had any strong family sentiment, though death usually prompted more fond feeling, or at least a pretense of it. But Mr. Harper was clearly not a grieving nephew. Whether Miss Harper was genuinely distressed or simply in shock from her discovery, Lily did not know.
Before Mr. Harper could say anything else insensitive, Daniel returned again, begging their pardon for his interruption. “But the gentlemen from Bow Street are here to see you, Mr. Harper, Miss Harper. Shall I show them in?”
“More than one?” Mr. Harper scowled. “I suppose that is some consolation for Uncle, in spite of being dead. At least they are taking the business seriously, though no doubt we shall have to pay handsomely to see any results.”
Miss Harper lowered her eyes and said nothing, though Lily saw the other woman’s hands tremble as she lifted her glass. Feeling uncomfortable, Lily looked away, her eyes lingering again on the letters strewn across the desk. The sight made her frown, though she could not have said why.
“Show them the body first, Daniel, while we finish our wine,” Mr. Harper continued. “It’s laid out in the kitchen. Then bring the fellows here.”
Ready to take advantage of the distraction the Bow Street officers provided, Lily stood, setting down her wine. “If you will excuse me, I should take my leave. I shouldn’t wish to intrude now that I know Miss Harper is well looked after.”
“Damned decent of you to come by.” Mr. Harper stood and bowed.
Miss Harper did not stand, but she lifted her eyes. “Thank you for your concern.�
�
“Of course.” Lily tried not to shift uncomfortably, all too aware of her ulterior motives. “If you need anything more, you will send for me?”
“We will,” Mr. Harper said with another bow, not giving his sister a chance to answer. “I hope you’ll not think me rude for not seeing you to the door, Mrs. Adler, but I don’t like to leave my sister at such a time.”
Considering that his sister had been quite alone when she first arrived, Lily thought it more likely that Mr. Harper did not like to leave his wine. But she had no intention of insisting on his escort.
The hallway was empty, as she had hoped, the servants no doubt shadowing the Bow Street gentlemen to see what they would say about the general’s body. The news must have spread all over London by now, Lily thought as she hurried down the hall. It made her angry to think that the death of someone like General Harper could garner so much attention, while the murder of a man like Mr. Finch sank into murky oblivion. Her anger made her bold, and she slipped without hesitating into the general’s study, closing the door silently behind her.
* * *
It felt much as it had the last time she had been there, and Lily shivered at the memory of Mr. Lacey standing just outside the door. If she had known then how dangerous he was … She pushed the thought aside and set to work surveying the room. The curtains were drawn, but there was no telling when someone would come in. There would be time for fear later, once she was home and safe. For now, she had to hurry.
The room was a gruesome scene. Red-brown splatters pooled on the blotter and the floor around the desk. The chair was pushed back and the rug scuffed, presumably from where the servants had moved the body. But Lily noted with interest that the desk itself was remarkably organized. The general’s pens and papers were laid out neatly, as if he had just finished tidying up for the night when he was shot.
If he had been caught by surprise by the appearance of a burglar, surely there would have been some signs of a struggle? Lily frowned. At the very least he would have been startled, leaving behind shifted papers or some spilled ink. Or he could have reached for a weapon …
Moving as silently as she could, which still sounded unnaturally loud, she knelt behind the desk to look. The pistol that had been in the bottom drawer was gone.
Lily dusted off her hands on her dress as she stood, satisfied. The case against Mr. Lacey looked bleak indeed. And if he had killed the general, he had surely killed Mr. Finch as well.
She was feeling pleased with her deductions when she was suddenly made aware of another person in the room by a very irate male voice hissing, “What the devil are you doing?”
Lily only just had the presence of mind not to shriek in surprise. Standing in front of the closed study door, arms crossed, was Mr. Simon Page. The Bow Street officer, it seemed, was much more experienced in the art of stealth than she.
As usual, Lily took refuge in cold politeness. She lifted her chin and said, with as much poise as if she had been found in her own library instead of the study of a dead man, “Mr. Page. What a surprise to see you again.”
“Mrs. Adler.” His greeting was not a warm one, though Lily was impressed by the way he managed not to scowl at her. Most men, in her experience, were not so restrained when confronted with a woman trespassing on their territory. But then, most men were not officers of the law. He crossed his arms and regarded her as coolly as she was looking at him. “What are you doing here?”
“Miss Harper is a friend.” She met his gaze calmly, reconsidering, then pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed at her eyes. “Such a tragedy for her to endure.”
“A tragedy.” Mr. Page’s mouth twisted. “Why is it, Mrs. Adler, that I find you on the scene of a second tragedy so soon after the first?”
“As I said, the Harpers are friends, and I knew the general—”
“I take it, then”—Mr. Page’s sarcastic tone made her forget her sorrowing posture and glare at him—“that if I mentioned to Mr. and Miss Harper that you were poking around their uncle’s study, they would be unsurprised?”
She was caught, of course, and they both knew it, but she still tried to carry the moment off. “I am sure they would understand the need for solitary reflection after such a terrible—”
“Bollocks.” Mr. Page plowed on without giving her room to speak. “You think I don’t know why you’re here? You may fancy you have a right to intrude wherever you like, Mrs. Adler, but you’ve no knowledge of anything involved in the pursuit of truth and justice. So I suggest you take yourself home and leave this work to those who know what they’re about.”
“Who know what they are about?” Lily drew herself up, well aware of how disconcerted most men felt when confronted with a tall woman and happy to use that fact to her advantage. She had thought, when she read the letter in Lord Walter’s study, that Mr. Page had some sense of decency that had prompted him to continue his investigation against Mr. Neve’s orders. But there was no sign of that strength of character now. “Then do please tell me exactly what you are about, Mr. Page. Have you discovered who murdered the young man found in my friend’s garden? Have you even learned who he is or what he was doing—”
“As I told you before, that case is no longer being investigated. And if it were, that still would not excuse—”
“His name was Augustus Finch.” If he could interrupt her, she felt no need to behave politely either. “He came to London from the West Indies and stayed at the George Inn in Southwark. He intended to persuade a girl to marry him, but to do that he first needed money, so he was attempting to blackmail—”
“Enough!” Mr. Page’s glare was so fierce that Lily nearly took a step back. “I don’t know what you hope to gain with such a display, but—”
“I should have thought it obvious that I am sharing the information you would have discovered yourself if you had bothered to do your job!”
“I am doing my job, Mrs. Adler. I’m investigating the murder of General Alfred Harper, which investigation, I point out, you are currently hampering. I’m not investigating that other man’s murder because it isn’t my job to do so.”
“You are not investigating that poor man’s murder because your employer was paid not to care!” Lily snapped. They stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Lily shook with anger, and her fingers were clumsy as she stuffed her handkerchief back into her reticule, preparing to leave.
The utter coldness of Mr. Page’s voice made her stop. “I’m not investigating that murder because I was ordered not to by a king’s magistrate, at the risk of my continued employment. And I, like any man who works for a living, must sometimes swallow my pride and abandon my own inclinations if I don’t wish to see my children go hungry. We don’t all have the benefit of leisure time and a large widow’s portion.”
Lily turned away very quickly, and the constable seemed to feel that he had gone too far, because he cleared his throat awkwardly before lapsing into silence. When she felt more calm, Lily took a deep breath. “I am not doing this because I am a bored young widow with too much time and money.”
There was a long silence. “Then why are you?”
Lily turned back, her own arms crossed so that they mirrored each other in belligerence, but her voice was quiet as she asked, “Why did you try to continue investigating after I told you the magistrate had taken a bribe?”
He couldn’t hide his surprise. “How did you know that?”
“One learns things. Why did you, Mr. Page?”
He regarded her steadily, his expression unreadable, before answering, “Because a man was murdered.”
“Just so, sir,” Lily agreed. “Because a man was murdered.”
“People are murdered every day,” he said. It was an echo of what Jack had once said to her, but this time Lily could see behind the cynicism of the words.
“As you have better reason than I to know. And no one can do something about all of them.” She lifted her chin. “But we can do something this time.”
Mr. Page muttered something that Lily thought sounded like, “Going to regret this,” then let out a long breath. “Very well. Then I’ll make a bargain with you.” Something that was almost a smile lightened his grim face. “You stop looking down your nose at me like I’m a bumbling, know-nothing peasant. And I stop thinking of you as a bored, self-righteous featherbrain. You don’t get in my way here, and I let you poke around and see what you can find. And maybe I can help you out with your murder as well.”
“But I believe they are connected!”
“Prove it, then.” He raised a challenging eyebrow. “I don’t care what you think, Mrs. Adler, unless you can prove it.”
Lily bristled at his rude words, until she realized he was actually paying her a compliment. He was speaking to her the way he would to another man, to someone whose intellect he respected. A slow smile spread across her face. Mr. Page frowned, looking wary, until she held out her hand. Mystified, he took it, and looked surprised when she shook it firmly. “Very well, Mr. Page. If I may make an observation to begin?” His wary look didn’t fade, but he nodded. “General Harper used to keep a pistol in the bottom drawer of his desk.”
“And you know that how?”
Lily raised her brows but did not answer. Mr. Page grumbled, but he went to check anyway. She watched calmly, no longer feeling the urge to bolt for the door. She still didn’t like him, but she was sure he wouldn’t reveal her presence to the Harpers.
“It’s not there anymore,” he said, after a moment. “Nor under the desk, or anywhere about.”
“Exactly.” Lily snapped her fingers. “Mr. Harper and his sister think their uncle was shot by a burglar, but if there were an intruder, he would have defended himself. So either he did not try to, or the pistol was already gone when he reached for it. Do you see?” she demanded when Mr. Page remained silent. “The general knew the man who killed him.”
The Body in the Garden Page 25