“You don’t have to be sorry. They are, and you’re right, it will be very dangerous.”
“I can be upstairs, or in the kitchen,” Edith insisted. “Somewhere, anywhere, can’t I, Malcolm?”
“I’m sorry, Edith, it’s out of the question. We have no idea how this will play out.”
“But I’ll give you a full account,” Edward promised fervently. “I’ll come here immediately after it’s all over and tell you everything.”
“It’s not the same,” she grumbled. “This isn’t fair at all.”
“I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but you’ll be safe here, and that’s all I care about,” he said firmly. “Now I really must go, but I’ll see you for luncheon tomorrow. I’ll pick you up at noon sharp.”
“I’ll walk you out. Will you please excuse me, Connie?”
“Of course. Nice to see you again, Edward.”
“You too, and great news about the statue.”
As they left the room, Connie poured herself a second cup of tea, and popped a small cake in her mouth.
“So delicious,” she murmured, then looked up at Malcolm. “Poor Edith. It’s a shame she can’t be there.”
“Yes...” Malcolm murmured, a frown crossing his brow. “The thing is, Connie, the same holds true for you.”
“What? You can’t possibly mean that. No! No, no, no! I’m going. There’s no way you’re stopping me.”
“You would be in more danger than anyone. These people know you saw Samuel Mountbatten commit the murders. The minute they see you—”
“But they won’t. I’ll stay in my room, or somewhere else, and you said yourself the police will be there in droves.”
“They will be, but they can’t be distracted trying to protect you, and neither can I. You’re to stay here with Edith and her mother. When she gets home I’ll explain everything to her. She’s a wonderful woman.”
“I’m sure she is, but Malcolm, don’t you understand? I have to be there. I have to see them carted away.”
“Connie, I do understand,” he replied, sitting next to her on the couch and putting his arm around her, “and you will see justice served, but in a courtroom. I cannot put you at risk. I cannot lose you, and you know how brutal these people are.”
He could see the fight in her eyes, but he could also see her resignation.
“Yes, I do,” she muttered with a heavy sigh. “I’m just awfully disappointed. Are you sure there isn’t some way...?”
“Even if I said yes, Frank wouldn’t allow it. This will be a police operation.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.”
“If anything happened to you, he’d be responsible.”
“Oh. Yes, I see.”
“So we’re agreed? You’ll stay here with Edith and her mother?”
“We’re agreed, Malcolm,” she said, sighing again, “but that doesn’t change how I feel about it.”
“No, of course it doesn’t, but I’ll do my very best to make tomorrow night go as quickly as possible so I can get back to you with every tiny detail. Now I’m taking you home for an early dinner, and then,” he murmured, lowering his voice, “I’ll make you forget about all of this.”
* * *
Sitting in his office at Scotland Yard, Detective Frank Colby leaned back in his chair, locked his fingers together across his stomach, and stared up at the ceiling.
He needed to think.
Hackworth had explained how David Manning and Josephine Mountbatten had blackmailed Samuel Mountbatten, and forced him to steal the Statue of Kharute.
It was the only evidence Frank had against the nefarious trio, and Hackworth had a checkered history. The word of a petty criminal would never stand up against the earl, his wife, and a millionaire American businessman.
There was also the matter of the arrest and conviction of Samuel Mountbatten for the murder of the Cliffords.
Kendrick had made an official statement, but he could only offer a vague description of the killer as he ran into the garden through the French doors. Kendrick had watched the perpetrator grab a shovel, return to the house, there had been a scream, then the same man had run back out and jumped over the back wall.
The testimony certainly cleared Connie, but it wasn’t enough to formally charge Mountbatten.
Connie, however, had been an eyewitness, and until the dastardly American and the Mountbattens were behind bars, she remained in dire, constant danger. But even when they were arrested, Mountbatten had powerful friends in very high places, including the newspapers. Frank had no doubt the earl would make sure Connie’s name was dragged through the mud. She could end up in even greater danger than she was already.
Then there was Roger Witherspoon. He was weak, and put under enough pressure he would probably talk, but he was also the son of a duke!
“Malcolm was right,” Frank murmured. “These people have to be caught red-handed doing something criminal. Then I can arrest them, gather more evidence, and put pressure on them to turn on each other. Poole might even cave if he knows they’re out of commission. But I must find a way to protect Connie.”
A knock on his door snatched him from his deep reverie. As he sat up, a young constable poked his head in.
“Excuse me, sir. There’s a gentleman who wants to speak to the man in charge of the theft of that Egyptian thing. The Statue of Koote.”
“The Statue of Kharute,” Frank corrected him.
“Yes, that’s it. That’s what he said.”
“What’s this man’s name?”
“John Partridge. He said he’s the butler for the Earl of Landenbury, Lord Mountbatten. He said it’s urgent and he doesn’t have very long.”
“Please show him in.”
“Yes, sir.”
Frank’s pulse ticked up.
Butlers saw and heard just about everything. They often knew more about the goings-on in a grand house than the residents themselves. Running his fingers through his hair and straightening his tie, Frank quickly tidied his desk. Butlers could also be extremely judgmental.
“Mr. Partridge, sir,” the constable announced, opening the door and ushering in the austere, mature man.
“Detective Colby,” Frank declared, standing up and shaking Partridge’s hand. “May I offer you some tea?”
“No, thank you, Detective. I only have a quick minute. I must return to the house at once.”
“Then I won’t hold you up. My constable said you have information pertaining to the theft of the Statue of Kharute. What information might that be?”
“I believe these will explain everything, sir,” Partridge declared, withdrawing a stack of letters from his pocket.
“What are these, and how did you come upon them?”
“You probably haven’t heard about this, but His Lordship died of a heart attack a short time ago.”
Frank caught his breath.
“Would you please repeat that?” he said, leaning across his desk, thinking he must have misheard.
“The Earl of Landenbury, Lord Mountbatten, passed away a short time ago from a heart attack. My apologies. That was probably unexpected. “
“Yes, it certainly was,” Frank muttered, trying to grasp what Partridge had just told him.
“The news hasn’t broken yet. His wife isn’t sure quite how to handle things.”
“I’m sure it was a shock.”
“That’s why I must return quickly, but I had to deliver those letters before she or her, uh, companion came across them. You see, the earl was the man who organized the theft of the statue, but he did so against his will. It was an American, David Manning, and His Lordship’s wife, who coerced him. The word, Detective, is blackmail. They blackmailed him. The letters before you, foolishly written if I may be so bold as to say so, should provide a clear picture of what I’ve just outlined.”
“Tell me, Mr. Partridge, how is it you have them?”
“His Lordship gave me specific instructions in the event of his passing. I was to turn
them over to the detective in charge of the case, but I must add, he struggled with this decision. There is another person on the periphery of this unfortunate matter. As luck would have it, his name is not mentioned in any of the correspondence.”
“Well, Mr. Partridge,” Frank said, amazed at the sudden and shocking turn of events, “I’m in your debt. I shall read these and take the necessary steps.”
“I won’t be remaining at the house,” Partridge declared, rising to his feet. “I must fulfill certain obligations, then I’ll be leaving London for good. I’ll only be available for the next couple of days.”
“Ah, thank you for telling me. If I don’t see you again, I wish you the very best,” Frank said, standing up and shaking his hand.
As Partridge walked briskly from his office, Frank sank down on his chair.
“Dead,” he muttered. “Mountbatten is dead. Bloody hell. And what the blazes am I going to find out in these letters? I’ll take them home and read them there. Right now I have to get to Malcolm and Connie and give them the news.”
Chapter Forty-Three
With Malcolm’s permission, when Mrs. Melville and Baker had returned home they shared the wonderful news about the small country wedding. When Malcolm and Connie finally walked in the door, they were greeted by the staff full of congratulations, and Corbin presented them with a gift. The box contained a baby’s shawl in pale lemon.
“In the hope you’ll be blessed,” Mrs. Melville said, “and boy or girl, pale yellow will suit.”
The thoughtful gift and promise of the future not only filled Connie’s eyes with happy tears, it caused Malcolm to swallow back a hot lump in his throat.
“I am truly overcome by this kindness,” he managed, opening the card to find each of their signatures with personal tributes. “These have been difficult days, but they’re nearly at an end. You’ll all be rewarded for your loyalty. Mrs. Mead and I thank you very much indeed.”
“Very much,” Connie added. “This is a wonderful gift.”
“Is there anything you require, sir?” Corbin asked, as the staff left to return to their duties.
“This has been a very long, eventful day. I think Connie and I are going to take a rest before dinner. Please have it served at seven o’clock. That should give cook time to prepare it, and for us to have a much needed lie down.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll make sure you won’t be disturbed.”
But as the words left Corbin’s lips, the doorbell chimed.
“Oh, no,” Connie mumbled. “Who could that be?”
“Why don’t you both go up?” Corbin suggested. “I’ll get rid of whoever it is.”
“I wish I could, but with so much going on I’d better make sure it’s not important.”
“I hope it isn’t,” Connie remarked as Corbin opened the door. “I’m suddenly very tired.”
“Of course you are. I’m feeling a bit weary myself.”
“A Detective Frank Colby to see you, sir,” Corbin declared as Frank followed him into the foyer.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” Frank said solemnly, “but I have some extremely important news.”
“Connie, do you want to go upstairs? I can tell you whatever it is.”
“Not on your life. I’d be waiting on pins and needles.”
“Please, Frank, come into the drawing room,” Malcolm said, gesturing down the hall. “Can I offer you tea or coffee?”
“Thank you, but no. I can’t stay.”
Moving down the hall and into the drawing room, Connie sat down, but Malcolm remained standing.
“I’m sure you’re both tired after everything that happened today,” Frank began, “so I’ll get right to the point. Connie, prepare yourself. It’s not bad news, but it will be a shock.”
“I’m getting used to shocks,” she said with a sigh, “and I think I’m too tired to have much of a reaction to anything.”
“I’m not sure how you’ll feel about this, but Samuel Mountbatten is dead.”
“Dead?” Malcolm repeated, moving swiftly to sit next to Connie. “When did this happen?”
“And how did it happen?” Connie asked as Malcolm took her hand.
“Apparently he had a heart attack. Partridge, his butler, came to my office to tell me, and I came straight here to tell you. I’m glad you were home.”
“How could this be? He wasn’t an old man,” Connie murmured. “Heavens, I just got a chill.”
“I did too,” Malcolm said, squeezing her hand, “but Frank, why did the butler feel the need to tell you?”
“That’s the next thing. He gave me these,” Frank said solemnly, taking the wad of letters from his coat pocket. “Mountbatten instructed him to turn them over to the detective in charge of the theft if anything happened to him. It makes me wonder if he wanted them to go to Detective Poole, but we’ll never know. I haven’t opened them yet, but Partridge claims they’re proof that David Manning and Josephine blackmailed the earl into stealing the Statue of Kharute.”
“So you have the proof you need to arrest them!” Malcolm declared.
“Possibly, but to be honest, with their many influential friends I’m not sure how far I’d get. I’d be much happier making an arrest with more proof about everything, not just the theft!”
“You’re saying the auction tomorrow night should go ahead.”
“Most definitely,” Frank said earnestly. “Catching them in the course of a crime will give me a solid foundation.”
“Except for that beast,” Connie muttered under her breath. “Will anyone ever know who he really was and what he did? Dying from a heart attack is too good for that horrible man!”
“Connie, everything will come out,” Frank promised. “I give you my word.”
“Thank you,” Connie managed, barely able to hold back the sweeping emotion rolling through her. “Thank you for everything you’ve done, and everything you’re doing.”
“I’ll leave you now so you can get some rest, but I’ll keep you updated. I could swing by in the morning and let you know what’s in the letters if you like.”
“Please do,” Malcolm said gratefully, then taking a breath, he added, “Connie, what you just mentioned about Samuel Mountbatten.”
“You mean, about dying from a heart attack being too good for him?”
“No, the other thing. People needing to know what a dastardly devil he was. I’ve just realized how to make that happen,” he declared, his voice growing excited. “In fact, with your approval, Frank, I know how to make this whole thing blow up in Manning’s face. Not only will it take Josephine and Roger right along with him, it will expose Samuel Mountbatten for the murdering monster he was.”
“What do you have in mind?” Frank asked.
“Yes, tell us, tell us,” Connie said urgently. “How can we do that?”
“It’s very simple...”
* * *
Frank immediately jumped at Malcolm’s suggestion, and Connie was thrilled, but it meant the two men had to leave.
“I’ll come with you,” Connie said eagerly, quickly rising to her feet. “There won’t be any danger, and I want to know—ooh—”
Her words were cut off by an unexpected wave of dizziness. As she teetered, Malcolm quickly caught her and sat her back down.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re absolutely exhausted. I’ll help you upstairs and into bed.”
She was about to argue, but she knew he was right. Her head was spinning, and she felt as though someone had sucked all the energy out of her.
“I do wish I could have joined you,” she said with a heavy sigh. “I can’t even stand up.”
“I’ll have Corbin send for my carriage,” Malcolm said to Frank as he swept Connie into his arms. “It will be faster, and I can drop you at your home when we’re finished.”
“Excellent. Connie, I do hope you’re feeling better soon.”
“I’m sure I’ll be just fine.”
In fact, the giddiness was already passin
g, and she was about to tell Malcolm to put her down, but changed her mind. Being carried in his powerful arms was too heavenly. As they moved into the foyer, Malcolm gave Corbin his instructions, and Frank collected his coat and went outside to wait for the coach.
“I’m sorry about this,” Connie muttered as Malcolm laid her on his bed and removed her shoes.
“What do you have to be sorry for? It’s not so long ago you came into this house in a wretched state. I’m the one who must apologize. You’ve been doing too much. I blame myself.”
“Malcolm...”
“Rest! No arguments.”
“I was just going to ask if you could please fetch my bracelet. It’s in the nightstand in my room.”
“Your former room,” he corrected her, kissing her lightly. “I’ll be right back.”
Feeling a slight chill, she sat up, unbuttoned her dress, slipped it off, and was crawling into bed when he returned.
“That’s good. Yes. Get under the covers,” he said tenderly, handing her the bracelet. “You have almost an hour-and-a-half before dinner. Take full advantage of it.”
“I will,” she replied with a long yawn, “but I’ll be dying to hear everything when you get back. I love you, Malcolm. Please stay safe.”
“I love you too, my darling. Get some rest.”
Kissing her again, he strode from the room, closing the door behind him. Clutching the bracelet, she closed her eyes and let out a long sigh.
“Watch over him, Mamma,” she whispered. “Please don’t let any harm come to my wonderful husband.”
She loved being in his bed and smelling his scent, but engulfed by fatigue she sank into sleep. It had only seemed like a few minutes when she felt him slip in next to her. As he took her into his arms, she half opened her eyes.
She was alone in the bed.
Abruptly sitting up, she stared around the room.
“Malcolm?”
The room was quiet.
She felt no fear, but she instinctively knew something had happened.
“Hurry home, Malcolm. I know I’ll hear whatever this is soon enough, but it must be something very important for you to be so worried about me.”
Rough Gentleman Page 33