Shadows in Time

by Julie McElwain

  “I was getting to that,” he grumbled.

  Kendra made a quick decision. “We might as well go inside. You, too, Mr. Muldoon.”

  Muldoon’s face brightened at the invitation.

  “I dare say you’ve consumed enough ale to be an expert on the subject,” Rebecca said, giving the reporter a pert look as they crossed the street.

  He grinned at her. “I do what I can to support the business, Princess.”

  “I’m inviting you inside, Mr. Muldoon, but it’s the same deal as before—whatever is said inside is off the record,” Kendra warned as they went up the steps into the entrance hall.

  Her chaperone duties over, Molly peeled off from the group while they climbed the grand staircase to the study.

  “Agreed—unless I uncover the information from other sources,” the reporter said.

  “Okay,” said Kendra. “But I hope you have more to offer than a history lesson. I visited Barrett Brewery yesterday and it’s not a homespun operation. In fact, I’d say it’s the very definition of a big business—”

  She broke off as she opened the door to the study, and saw the Duke standing inside the room. The table had been laid out with silver pots and porcelain dishes. The smell of bacon, eggs, and—praise the Lord—the brown bread that Kendra had grown so fond of drifted toward them. The Duke had been pouring himself a cup of tea, but he smiled at her and set down the pot.

  “Good morning, my dear. I had heard there would be a meeting this morning and took it upon myself to supply breakfast.”

  “Briefing,” Kendra corrected automatically, then waved her hand. “Never mind.” She looked at him, realizing she was smiling. “I didn’t expect you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I have always been fascinated with these investigations.”

  “I know, but you’ve been preoccupied with other matters lately,” she said carefully, aware that Muldoon was in the room. And as the reporter had said, he had ears.

  The Duke seemed mindful of their audience, as well; he turned to acknowledge the Irishman. “Mr. Muldoon, I didn’t realize you would be here.”

  “Your Grace.” Muldoon bowed. “I’ve come to offer my services to Miss Donovan regarding the poor wretch who was murdered yesterday.”

  “Oh? And what services are those?”

  “Mr. Muldoon says he can be useful. He has yet to prove it.” Kendra dumped her coat and bonnet on a chair and joined the Duke at the table.

  Muldoon put a hand to his heart and struck a dramatic pose. “Your lack of faith does me a most grievous injury, Miss Donovan.”

  “It won’t be my lack of faith that will cause you injury if you’re leading me on, Mr. Muldoon.”

  The Duke laughed. “I suggest we dine before anyone begins brawling.” The door opened to admit two more guests, and the Duke greeted them, “Good morning, Mr. Kelly, Alec.”

  Sam stopped and frowned at Muldoon. “What’s he doin’ here?”

  Muldoon paused in heaping eggs onto his plate. “Thank the stars that me sainted mother didn’t raise me to be a sensitive lad, otherwise I would feel that I wasn’t welcome.”

  “Mr. Muldoon feels he can help with the investigation,” said Rebecca, pouring a drop of cream into her teacup, followed by tea. She used a tiny spoon to stir. “Whether that proves to be the case I am awaiting with breathless anticipation.”

  “I shall do my best not to disappoint, Princess,” the reporter said, looking into Rebecca’s eyes. Again, Kendra was surprised to see a blush rising on Rebecca’s face.

  “Keep a civil tongue in your head,” Sam growled, giving him the gimlet eye.

  “Did you talk to Mrs. Doyle?” Kendra asked the Runner after everyone had filled up their plates and sat down at the table.

  Eyes narrowing, Sam jerked a thumb at Muldoon. “What about him?”

  “Same deal as before—everything said here is off the record,” Kendra assured him.

  Sam glowered as the reporter grinned at him, but he said, “I went ter the Green Knight, but Mrs. Doyle wasn’t there. Laid up with the grippe or something. The illness seems ter be going around the village.”

  Kendra thought of Mr. West and Hester’s red eyes and noses.

  “Who’s Mrs. Doyle?” Muldoon asked, then picked up a slice of brown bread, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed.

  “Town gossip,” Kendra said.

  “By the by, the inquest is set for two o’clock today,” Sam added, forking up his eggs. “You can testify, lass, unless His Grace deems it unseemly. Then his lordship’s testimony will suffice, since you were together when you found Mr. Pascoe.”

  “I’ll testify,” Kendra said, irritated that would even be a question.

  Sam picked up his glass of ale. “I did pick up a bit of gossip. Did Mrs. Gavenston speak of her uncle, Captain Lucian Sinclair, or her son-in-law, Mr. Mercer?”

  “No, but Mr. Pascoe Senior mentioned Captain Sinclair. He’s on my list. What about the son-in-law? Who’s he married to?”

  “Mrs. Gavenston’s other daughter, Sabrina.”

  Kendra blinked. “How many children does Mrs. Gavenston have?” She was just beginning to realize how little she knew about her client.

  “Just the two—Hester and Sabrina. As the eldest, Hester will inherit Barrett Brewery. Sabrina married Mr. Mercer, the youngest son of a viscount. Lord Redgrave.”

  Alec nodded. “I believe I’ve been introduced to Lord Redgrave. From what I remember, he seemed a proud sort. I can’t imagine he would have been pleased to have a son marry into the merchant class.”

  “It must have been a love match,” Rebecca said, and smiled.

  “I don’t know about that, but folks around Cookham aren’t keen on him. Although no one could tell me precisely why.” Sam shrugged. “Folks also don’t like Captain Sinclair, either, even though he was born in the village.”

  “Maybe because the captain is trying to push his way into Barrett Brewery,” Kendra said. “Mr. Pascoe Senior said that Captain Sinclair had approached his son, wanting to get his support in… I don’t know if you’d call it a coup against Mrs. Gavenston, or if that’s too strong a word.”

  Rebecca gasped. “What a despicable thing to do to your own niece.”

  “Very Richard III of him,” Muldoon said, breaking off a piece of bacon. “The English are a treacherous lot.”

  They ignored him. Kendra said, “Pascoe didn’t appreciate the duplicity either. It sounds like he told him so, and Captain Sinclair responded in a threatening manner.”

  Alec raised an eyebrow at her. “And Mr. Pascoe ends up dead. Convenient.”

  Kendra looked back to Sam. “What did you hear last night about the captain?”

  “Captain Sinclair is Mrs. Gavenston’s uncle on her mother’s side. As the brewery is passed down ter the women of the family, he joined the army and headed off ter India, where he’s been for a good forty years or better. He returned to White Pond Manor last year. The house has been in the family since his grandmother—Mrs. Gavenston’s great grandmother—founded Barrett Brewery.”

  The Duke spoke up. “It cannot be a comfortable environment if the captain has been vocal on his displeasure over how the brewery has been passed down.”

  Kendra caught the Duke’s eye and wondered if he could relate to that kind of familial tension. God knew his sister had been vocal about her displeasure regarding Kendra’s position in his household.

  “I, for one, find the brewery being passed to the firstborn female, rather than the more common male primogeniture, enormously refreshing,” Rebecca said, her eyes glinting as she buttered her bun. “The laws in this country are really quite insufferable toward my sex.”

  “Aye, well…” Sam eyed Rebecca uneasily. “Captain Sinclair says that it’s improper these days for his niece ter be in control of a company as large as Barrett Brewery. The on-dit is they’ve had rows about it.”

  “Ah-hah!” Muldoon shot Kendra a smug look. “This is what I was trying to tell you! Times are changing!”


  “Times are always changing,” Kendra said mildly. She tapped her coffee cup with her index finger. “How heated were their arguments, I wonder?”

  “Obviously heated enough to set tongues wagging,” said Alec.

  “Like I said, the captain was born in Cookham, but folks don’t like him,” Sam said. “They’re quiet about it, though. I get the impression that if they had ter wager on who is gonna win the battle and run the brewery, it might be the captain.”

  Rebecca frowned. “Does he have a family of his own?”

  “He was married, but his wife and daughter were killed several years ago during an uprising by the natives,” Sam explained. “He has a son who’s living in those parts. Working for the English East India Company.”

  “So, the captain may wish to wrest control of Barrett Brewery for his son as much as for himself,” the Duke speculated.

  Kendra looked at Muldoon, who was finishing up the last bit of eggs on his plate. “Is that what you had information about, that Captain Sinclair is attempting to take over Barrett Brewery?”

  The reporter chewed and swallowed. “Actually, no. He wasn’t the one that I’d heard wants to take over the brewery. My information is Mr. Fletcher—Mr. Oscar Fletcher—has been moving in on Barrett Brewery. He owns Appleton Ale.”

  Kendra leaned back in her seat. “A competitor?”

  “A competitor. And possibly a murderer.”

  Kendra stared at Muldoon, who looked smug after delivering that bombshell. “Excuse me?”

  “Aye, lad, spit it out!” Sam growled, annoyed by what he considered the Irishman’s theatrics.

  The reporter raised his hand, as though to deflect Sam’s ire. He even delayed his story by taking a long pull of his ale. Sam’s eyes narrowed, and Kendra wondered if she might have to step between the two.

  “In the last twenty years, Mr. Fletcher has grown his business from a local operation here in Southwark, supplying nearby taverns, to one of the largest breweries in the kingdom,” Muldoon finally said, setting down his glass. “Like Barrett Brewery, Appleton Ale is now shipped throughout England and has begun expanding into foreign markets. Unlike Barrett Brewery, one of the ways that Mr. Fletcher has increased the size of his company is by taking over other smaller breweries.”

  “God’s teeth, you take your time telling a tale,” Sam grumbled, lifting his own glass of ale to take a swallow.

  Muldoon grinned, wagging a finger at the Bow Street Runner. “I am simply giving you an understanding on how large Appleton Ale is, and how powerful Fletcher has become as a result.”

  Kendra nodded, leaning back in her chair as she thought it over. “So, Fletcher is eyeing Barrett Brewery for acquisition. But I was at Barrett Brewery yesterday. Like I said, it’s not a small operation. And Mrs. Gavenston seems to be powerful in her own right.”

  “From what I’ve managed to learn in the little time I’ve had to investigate, Barrett Brewery is shipping to more foreign markets than Appleton Ale. Probably that’s what got Fletcher interested in the brewery in the first place.”

  Kendra recalled the yellow pins and the map of the West Indies in Mrs. Gavenston’s office.

  Muldoon went on, “Barrett Brewery is a solid enough company. I suspect that’s why Fletcher hasn’t been able to force Mrs. Gavenston to sell. Unfortunately, there have been other breweries in a similar position that didn’t want to sell either.”

  Alec cocked his head, surveying the reporter across the table. “Unfortunately?”

  Muldoon lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Odd things seem to happen to those who refuse Mr. Fletcher. I was told he wanted to buy a brewery up north. When the brewer declined his offer, one night his brewery inexplicably caught on fire and burnt to the ground.”

  “Dear heavens,” Rebecca breathed, pushing away her empty plate. “Pray tell, are you suggesting Mr. Fletcher had something to do with the fire?”

  Muldoon glanced at her, his eyes darkening. “Nobody could prove anything. Radicals were blamed, and the brewer himself. It was said that he must have left a candle burning, or some other rot. Maybe if that had been the only incident… but he wasn’t the only competitor of Fletcher’s who suddenly found themselves born under a halfpenny planet.”

  Kendra had to ask. “A what?”

  “Unlucky,” the Duke supplied, rubbing his chin as he considered Muldoon’s words. “It appears as though Mr. Fletcher’s competitors suddenly found themselves very unlucky.”

  Muldoon nodded. “If it wasn’t fire, then it was vandals who wrecked mashers, machinery, barrels of ale.” Almost absently, he reached for another slice of bread and tore it in two. “These are the stories that I was told.”

  Mafia tactics, Kendra thought. She asked, “And what about the murder you mentioned?”

  Muldoon’s eyes went flat. “That happened in Fletcher’s tavern, which is attached to his London brewery. Apparently, he took exception to something that was being said at the time by one of the tavern customers. The two men fought. Fletcher ended up breaking a bottle and stabbing the cove to death with it.”

  “Good God!” The Duke stared at the reporter in horror. “Why is this man not in Newgate? Or transported? He must have been charged!”

  “The crime, which happened more than a decade ago, was investigated by the local magistrate. But no charges were brought. It was an argument that got out of control. The publican and several witnesses swore that the costermonger was a disagreeable fellow who had provoked Fletcher. There was a claim that the dead man was the one who broke the bottle, and Fletcher managed to disarm him. He was only protecting himself.” Muldoon’s lips twisted into a savage smile. “Or so it was said.”

  “You’ve done fast work, Mr. Muldoon, for a murder you learned of only yesterday,” Kendra commented. “Impressive.”

  He grinned at her. “I could say the same of you, Miss Donovan. You learned that Mr. Pascoe was missing only yesterday morning and by nightfall you not only found him but are now investigating.” He paused, then added with sheepish honesty, “I’m not as impressive as you may think.”

  “Do tell,” Sam muttered sarcastically.

  Muldoon ignored him. “I’ve been hearing about Fletcher for several years,” he said. “When his name came up in connection to Barrett Brewery…”

  “You became interested enough to come here,” Kendra finished for him. She pushed away from the table and crossed the room. Picking up the jagged piece of slate, she added Oscar Fletcher’s name to the suspect list.

  “Why is Mrs. Gavenston’s name up there?” Rebecca asked as she studied the board. “You cannot possibly imagine Mrs. Gavenston to be the killer?”

  Kendra jiggled the slate as she looked back at Rebecca. “Why can’t I imagine that?”

  Rebecca appeared nonplussed. “Why, because… because she is the one who brought attention to her business manager’s disappearance in the first place. Why would she want him found if she was the one who killed him?”

  “The two aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. Think about it. The cottage on Squire Prebble’s land is fairly remote. Someone would have to stumble across Pascoe’s body by chance. How long would that take? Days, weeks, months. In that time, Mr. and Mrs. Pascoe would be in agony, not knowing what happened to their son.”

  Kendra thought of the missing children cases that she’d worked. Never knowing what had become of their child was purgatory for parents. They were caught in a closed time-loop, bouncing endlessly between hope and despair.

  “If Mrs. Gavenston killed her business manager, maybe she didn’t want to put the Pascoes through that,” she pointed out quietly.

  Sam scratched the side of his nose. “Aye, I can see how that would explain her wantin’ Pascoe found. Doesn’t explain why she’d kill him, though. I thought she was fond of the lad.”

  Kendra had to smile at that, although there was no amusement in it. “Human beings kill people they’re fond of all the time. They even kill people they profess to love.” She allow
ed that to sink in before continuing, “Mrs. Gavenston was the last person to speak with Pascoe before he left the brewery. And they had argued.”

  “Exactly!” Rebecca pointed a finger at Kendra. “By her own account, she admitted to arguing with him. If she had killed Mr. Pascoe, wouldn’t it be in her best interest to keep that sort of thing quiet?”

  “She actually downplayed it. Said it was a disagreement.”

  “Still—”

  “Mrs. Gavenston isn’t a stupid woman. She had to think that others might have seen or heard them arguing. If she didn’t address it and we found out about it, she knew we’d wonder. She would look guilty, like she had tried to hide it. But by bringing it up—even though she downplayed it—she neutralizes the damage.”

  Sam looked at her. “You think she followed him ter the cottage ter kill him?”

  Kendra shook her head. “Remember the crime scene. We’re not dealing with a premeditated murder. If it was Mrs. Gavenston—and let me remind everyone, we’re theorizing here, nothing more—she followed him to continue the argument or maybe to reason with him. That seems more likely. The eyewitnesses said that he was the one who left the brewery and Mrs. Gavenston tried to call him back to talk to him. So, she could have gone to the cottage with the hope of diffusing whatever tensions were between them. But they started arguing again…”

  “And she knifed him,” Muldoon said.

  “If Mrs. Gavenston was responsible—and that’s a big if—I don’t think she intended to stab him,” Kendra concluded.

  “She didn’t intend to stab him five times?” Alec didn’t bother to hide his skepticism.

  Kendra shrugged. “It happens. A moment of rage, then when she came to her senses, Jeremy was on the floor, dying or already dead. Later, remorse sets in, and she realizes there is a good chance he’ll never be found. Never have a decent burial. His parents would never know what happened to him.”

  “It would cast them into hell,” the Duke said softly.

  There was a short, charged silence. Muldoon frowned, perplexed, the only one in the room who didn’t know about Charlotte.