“Captain Sinclair is trying to take over Barrett Brewery,” Kendra said.
“Yes, but it was more than that. It was the insidious way he was going about it. Captain Sinclair approached Mr. Pascoe for his support and even threatened him if he chose to stand with Mrs. Gavenston.”
“Mr. Pascoe—Senior… ah, the Elder,” she managed. “He mentioned that Captain Sinclair had tried to intimidate his son.”
“The captain warned Mr. Pascoe that he would win this war for control of Barrett Brewery and he would remember his disloyalty. He told him that he would have him sacked without references once he took over the brewery.”
“Dramatic,” Kendra said. “Was Mr. Pascoe worried?”
“I think so. He mentioned that he ought to look elsewhere for employment. I believe he approached his former employer about returning to his former position at the bank.”
“Really? When?”
Elwes pursed his lips, remembering. “A few days before he died, I think. But that can’t have anything to do with his murder, can it?”
“I don’t know.”
But it might have had something to do with the argument that Pascoe and Mrs. Gavenston had on the day he was killed. Mr. Shaw might have felt the need to warn Mrs. Gavenston of Pascoe’s possible defection, hoping to ingratiate himself with one of the bank’s largest depositors.
She asked, “Did Mr. Pascoe mention Mr. Fletcher to you? Or Mr. Mercer?”
“Mr. Fletcher is another sneaksby. Came right out and asked Mr. Pascoe to filch Barrett Brewery recipes for him! Bloody—oh, pardon me. The man is nothing more than a pirate. Mr. Pascoe was quite rightly appalled when he told me the tale.”
“Did he and Mr. Fletcher argue over it?”
“I don’t know if it was so much an argument as Mr. Pascoe telling him that he would never do such a thing, and would report him to Mrs. Gavenston.”
“Mrs. Gavenston or Miss Gavenston?” Kendra asked. Hester had known about the bribe, not her mother.
Elwes frowned. “Mrs. Gavenston—or so I thought. I know he worked quite closely with Miss Gavenston, though. So perhaps he meant her. I don’t know. Does it matter?”
“I don’t think so. But what about Mr. Mercer?”
“He thought he was a bit of a dandy, if you must know.” Elwes smiled slightly. “Mr. Mercer played up being the viscount’s son, even though his family appears to have disowned him for marrying beneath him. And we had heard the chap didn’t have a feather to fly with before his marriage.” That was said with quiet satisfaction. “Mr. Pascoe had a closer association with the man than I because he often dined at White Pond Manor. I was introduced to Mr. Mercer at a village assembly and have seen him occasionally around the village. I believe that he tends to travel to London for his amusements.”
“Did Mr. Pascoe mention Mr. Mercer’s association with Mr. Fletcher?” she asked carefully.
He looked surprised but it wasn’t for the reason she thought. “How did you find out?”
“So, Mr. Pascoe did know about the association?”
“A local farmer—Mr. Logan—told him that Mr. Fletcher was offering him more money if he sold his harvest to him rather than Mrs. Gavenston, as he had promised. Mr. Pascoe had words with him about it, and then went to London to speak with Mr. Fletcher at Appleton Ale. While he was there, he saw Mr. Mercer. Or at least he believed it was Mr. Mercer. Mr. Pascoe confessed to me that he only saw him at a distance. When he hailed him, the man hurried away, and got into a hackney before Mr. Pascoe could come upon him.”
“Did Mr. Pascoe speak to Mr. Mercer later about it?”
“Mr. Mercer denied it.”
“But Mr. Pascoe didn’t believe him?”
“No. But he could hardly call Mr. Mercer a liar to his face, could he? Especially when he only observed the man from afar. Still, Mr. Pascoe told me that he would be keeping an eye on him.”
The low gong of church bells sounded. Elwes glanced back at the school, then let out a sigh. “I’m afraid I must go, Miss Donovan. My class will be back from prayers shortly.”
“One more question. Did Mr. Pascoe say anything about Albion Miller?”
Elwes frowned. “No. I don’t recall him doing so, anyway.”
“Thank you, Mr. Elwes. And I’m sorry for your loss.”
He smiled sadly. “I appreciate that, Miss Donovan. Mr. Pascoe and I had much in common. Our interest in literature and poetry. And, of course, our unfortunate beginnings. I fear I shan’t find another friend like Mr. Pascoe.”
“Unfortunate beginnings?”
Elwes had begun turning, but paused, looking back at her. “Yes, we were both foundlings. We shared many of the same interests, and I confess that there were occasions when I wondered if perhaps… but it is of no matter.”
Kendra looked at the schoolmaster in surprise. “You’re saying Mr. Pascoe was adopted by the Pascoes?”
“You didn’t know? It wasn’t a secret, but I suppose it isn’t something one speaks about either. I only know because I had mentioned my own situation to Mr. Pascoe, and he confided to me that he was from similar circumstances, except he’d been fortunate. The Pascoes took him in when he was not yet five days old.
“I confess that I was envious of Mr. Pascoe,” Elwes continued. “I spent my childhood at a foundling home. Thankfully, it was run by a reverend and his wife who were academic minded—and I was interested in academics.” A wry smile pulled up the corners of his mouth as he looked at Kendra. “Not many of the children in the Home wanted to learn to read or write, you know.”
Kendra said nothing, her mind racing to add this new information to what she already knew. She felt like she’d been painting with the primary colors and now a tiny drop of yellow had bled into the blue and red. Only a small difference, really, but it changed the entire picture.
“I met Mr. and Mrs. Pascoe once when they came to Cookham,” Elwes said softly. “They’d accompanied Mr. Pascoe to dinner at the tavern. You must have met them?”
“Yes.”
“They’re lovely people, aren’t they? That was when I felt a bit covetous. I am embarrassed to admit that I wondered how fate could have been so generous to my friend and so miserly to me. And yet look at us now.” His eyes darkened and he was quiet for a moment. Then he let out a heavy sigh and shook his head. “Mayhap the Bard said it best. ‘Death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.’ ”
“Did Mr. Pascoe know anything about his biological parents?” Kendra asked.
Elwes looked surprised at the question. “How could he? Mrs. Pascoe told him that he’d been a gift from God when someone put him on her doorstep in the middle of the night.”
“God will uplift,” she murmured softly, and shrugged when Elwes raised his eyebrows at her. “Mrs. Pascoe told me that’s what Jeremy means—‘God will uplift.’ She’s got a thing for searching out the etymology of names.”
“Ah.”
It occurred to Kendra that she had no idea how adoption was done in this era. “Were Mr. and Mrs. Pascoe trying to adopt a child before? How would a young woman know to put her child on their doorstep?”
Elwes looked baffled by the question. “I have no idea. In truth, Mr. Pascoe and I never discussed it beyond us confiding in each other the circumstances of our births. It was a point of interest between us, nothing more. As I said, I thought him most fortunate. My own mother dropped me off in a church, with no parents on hand to take me into the warm bosom of their family.” He looked at Kendra. “Why are you asking me about something that happened so long ago, Miss Donovan? What does Mr. Pascoe’s birth have to do with his death? There can be no possible connection.”
“You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Elwes. I have a tendency to ask a lot of questions about a lot of random things. It helps me understand the victim. Of course, many times the questions and answers lead to nowhere in particular.” She shivered slightly as the wind picked up and drew her collar closer to her throat. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Elwes. You’ve b
een very helpful.”
He shook his head, still bewildered. “I don’t see how, but… I must go. I will not have a classroom if I tarry any longer. Good day, Miss Donovan.”
Kendra watched Elwes hurry across the lawn. He disappeared a moment later through the school’s door.
Many times random questions and answers didn’t lead anywhere.
And yet there were times, she thought, when they did.
29
It took almost twenty-five minutes to walk to Barrett Brewery, and Kendra spent the time mulling over the idea that had come to her. It could change everything, but did it have anything to do with Pascoe’s murder?
She spotted the Duke’s carriage as she and Molly approached the brewery. Coachman Benjamin and two grooms loitered next to the vehicle. She scanned the area for the Bow Street Runner and saw him in the open bay doors, chatting with the same two coopers that she and Alec had talked to the other day. Sam noticed her and quickly excused himself to meet her.
Kendra waited until he was near enough to ask in a low voice, “Did you find out anything at the Tip & Ship?”
There was the normal bustle of activity, with deliveries coming and going, the clang of steel from the area that the coopers were in. No one was close enough to overhear their conversation, but she caught a few curious looks tossed in their direction.
“The proprietor—a Mr. Davis—remembered Mr. Mercer comin’ ter the mill. Made a big show of putting down his wager. According ter Mr. Davis, that ain’t unusual, though the cove never has any blunt in his purse. Tends ter write vowels—IOUs,” he added for Kendra’s benefit. “Mr. Davis said that Mr. Mercer lost. Didn’t see him around for a while after the mill. Thought maybe he’d run off. But then he came up ter Mr. Davis near ten o’clock and paid him in cash.”
Kendra frowned. “Mr. Mercer said that he went to the match early, around two. The match didn’t start until four. How long did it last?”
“Boxing mills don’t last more than an hour. There were two mills that day. So, I reckon they were finished by six, no later than seven.”
“But it took Mr. Mercer almost three more hours to find Mr. Davis and pay his wager.”
“I thought it peculiar too. Mr. Davis thought he went somewhere ter get the money.”
“So he broke his usual pattern of giving an IOU.” Kendra shook her head. “Something’s not adding up. Did Mr. Davis see him the entire time?”
“He couldn’t swear ter it. Nor could anyone else who worked there. It wasn’t like they were keeping their peepers on him the entire time.”
In the 21st century, they could ping cell phones and tap into a car’s GPS to find out where Mercer had gone.
“In other words, he could have left and come back,” Kendra said, her gaze traveling to the stable boy combing down a horse near one of the stalls, then to the Duke’s carriage with the coachman and grooms. “How’d Mercer get there? Did you speak to the stable hands on whether he left for any period of time and then came back later?”
Sam grinned at her. “Do you know that some of me lads on Bow Street wouldn’t have thought of that?”
“But you did.” It wasn’t a question.
“Aye. Spoke ter the Tip & Ship’s grooms. Mr. Mercer rode horseback. The problem is the lads in the stables are just as interested in boxing as anyone else. They couldn’t say when Mr. Mercer left, but both mills were over by the time he came back.”
“He didn’t happen to mention why he’d left?”
“Nay, and they’re not gonna ask one of their betters what he was doin’.”
“It looks like we can scratch his wife off the suspect list, but not her husband.”
“You confirmed Mrs. Mercer was shopping, then?”
“Yes. I also learned a few other things. I need to speak to Mrs. Gavenston.” She hesitated. “Alone.”
While Molly seemed fine with that, scooting back into the carriage, Sam raised his eyebrows, waiting for an explanation.
Kendra released a sigh. “I may have learned something… actually, it’s pure speculation at this point. I need to talk to Mrs. Gavenston about it. It’s sensitive. I can’t say anything more. Can you please wait for me here?”
“All right, lass.”
Kendra could feel Sam’s curious gaze follow her as she crossed the courtyard.
Inside, the brewster’s clerk, Mr. West, was at his desk. He looked much better than the last time she saw him. When she told him that, he looked both pleased and flustered.
“I need to speak with Mrs. Gavenston. Is she here?” she asked.
“Just a moment.” He stood up and disappeared down the hall. Less than a minute later, he was back. “Mrs. Gavenston will see you. If you will follow me…”
She followed the clerk to Mrs. Gavenston’s office where he knocked briskly on the door before opening it. He stepped back so Kendra could pass through, then departed, closing the door quietly behind him.
Mrs. Gavenston stood behind her desk, her gaze wary. There was no smile of greeting today. Kendra could only imagine how Mrs. Gavenston would behave toward her after this conversation. For a fleeting moment, she felt a pang of regret. Like Rebecca, she admired the woman. But she couldn’t let that influence her. The truth was the only thing that mattered in a murder investigation.
“Miss Donovan, good afternoon,” Mrs. Gavenston said. “What can I help you with? Have you learned anything new?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I think I have,” Kendra said slowly. “And you can help me by being completely honest.”
Mrs. Gavenston stiffened. “Are you implying that I have not been honest with you?”
“I’m pretty sure you haven’t been honest about a great many things.” She kept her gaze fixed on the other woman. “You weren’t honest about what you and Mr. Pascoe argued about on Saturday. It wasn’t about you bringing in new machinery. I think you argued about something much more personal.”
“I don’t know wh—”
“Mr. Pascoe just had a birthday,” Kendra talked over the other woman. “Maybe that was the trigger. Did you tell Mr. Pascoe that you had given him away twenty-nine years ago?”
Mrs. Gavenston’s mouth parted and her face paled as she stared at Kendra in utter shock. In the silence, the heavy tick of the clock on the shelf and the sizzle of the coal fire in the hearth seemed acutely loud.
“I don’t know what you are saying, Miss Donovan,” Mrs. Gavenston finally said, her voice coming out low and harsh. “You must be mad. That is all I can think for you to throw around these slanderous accusations. I must insist that you leave. And I do not want you to return. My God, I wish I had never asked you to help me!” She raised her voice so the last words were a shout. “Get out!”
“I’m sorry,” Kendra said, and meant it. “I don’t mean to upset you—”
Mrs. Gavenston scoffed. “We are done here, Miss Donovan.”
“Not quite.” Kendra moved forward and sat down in one of the visitor’s chairs uninvited, which earned a gasp of outrage from the brewster. “It doesn’t work like that, you know. Mr. Pascoe was murdered, and I intend to find who killed him. To do that, I need the truth. The entire truth, Mrs. Gavenston.” She paused, allowing the other woman a moment to digest that. “Don’t you want to know what happened to your… to Jeremy?”
Mrs. Gavenston swallowed. “I’d like you to leave.” But she sank down in her chair, her eyes locked on Kendra.
“Let’s try it this way, shall we? Let me tell you a story. It’s actually a very old story—a young girl and boy meet… or maybe they’d always known each other. But one day, they looked at each other a little differently. It happens. Maybe it was springtime.” She smiled a little as she embellished the story. “They began to spend more time together. They fell in love. And they did love each other. They planned to marry. Maybe not then—they were both very young, after all. But eventually.”
She waited. But Mrs. Gavenston said nothing, gazing into the fire and wearing an indecipherable expressio
n.
After a moment, Kendra continued softly, “The boy wanted to be worthy of this girl before he could ask for her hand in marriage, so he went off to London to apprentice to become a silversmith. Unfortunately, while he was in London, he fell gravely ill and died. I’m certain the girl’s heart was broken. She grieved for her lost love. Then she realized something else. She realized she was going to have his baby.”
Mrs. Gavenston’s lips trembled and she pressed them together into a tight seam.
“It must have been a horrible time for this young girl. What was she? Fifteen? Sixteen?” She paused to allow comment, but when none was forthcoming, she continued, “When her mother realized her secret, she came up with a solution. She would tell everyone that she was sending her daughter to a finishing school. The girl would have to give up the child, of course.”
Let’s see if she would be happy to have to have her reputation in tatters, Albion Miller had said. This was an era when unmarried girls could be ruined forever if their indiscretion was ever known.
“That must have been painful for this girl,” Kendra said. “She lost the boy that she loved, and then she was forced to give up her son.
“I’m not sure how the girl found out about this couple who wanted to have a child,” she said slowly. “But instead of leaving her baby at a home for foundlings, she made sure he went to a good home, with loving parents. It was a maternal act, I think. She left him there, but she kept an eye on him. Even when she grew older and married and had two more children that she would never have to give away. I wonder, did she move her money to the bank where her son found employment, or did she move her money there and get the manager to hire her son?”
Mrs. Gavenston said nothing, but Kendra thought she saw the other woman’s eyelashes flicker slightly.
“These details are probably easy enough to find out,” said Kendra. “The story doesn’t end there, of course. Years later, this woman was given an opportunity to really have a relationship with her son when she was able to hire him herself. She invited him to dine with the family, which was not always understood. She probably looked at him with an affection… a love that might have been misconstrued.”
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