The doctor scoffed. “Highly unlikely, sir. One can hardly snort or inject a substance and not know it.”
“Perhaps in her food?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Stomach acids render cocaine inactive. Such a thing would have required her being given a larger dose than is usual, and that with some kind of alkaline. But I’ll leave that to the police.”
Drew nodded. “It seems they’re already here.”
There were several uniformed policemen milling about in the foyer, and two others who had the unmistakable look of a Scotland Yard inspector and his sergeant.
The doctor frowned. “How did they get here so quickly? Perhaps Cummins—”
He broke off as Sterling Cummins stepped into the foyer. His wrists were cuffed, and he was accompanied by two policemen. At least he had been allowed to change out of his Regency costume.
“Here now!” Dr. Fletcher charged down the steps. “What are you doing? How dare you! Do you know who this is?”
The inspector, a youngish man with brilliantined black hair and a bulldog jaw, came forward. “We’re well aware, sir. Take him to the car, Fuller.”
Cummins looked up, his face grim but stoic. “It’s all right, Doctor. We’ll have this sorted out soon. Just look after Tal, will you? He’s had a shock. The wife too.”
“Shall I fetch them, sir?” Drew asked. “At least Mrs. Cummins. Before you go and all?”
“Thanks all the same,” Cummins said, looking down. “It will be easier if I just go.” He lifted his head. “Tell them what’s happened. Look after them, eh?”
“I’ll do that, sir.” Drew glanced at the inspector and then back at Cummins. “I know a chief inspector of police, sir. Shall I ring him up? He might be able to clear this up more quickly for you.”
“I know a few chief inspectors myself, sir.” The inspector present stepped between Drew and Cummins. “And I can assure you Mr. Cummins will be introduced to a number of them shortly.”
“What precisely are the charges?” Drew asked.
“Contributing to the girl’s death,” the inspector said, “as well as trafficking in illegal drugs.”
Madeline gave a little gasp.
Drew looked at Cummins, a sudden queasiness in his stomach. “Sir, that can’t be.”
Cummins glanced at him and instantly looked away. He denied nothing. There was nothing but shame in his expression.
The inspector nodded to the constable holding on to Cummins’s arm. “Go on, Fuller.”
The uniformed officers escorted Cummins out, and there was a moment of taut silence. Drew could only watch them leave. Sterling Cummins trafficking in cocaine? Sterling Cummins, captain of industry, known for absolute integrity in his business dealings? Sterling Cummins the philanthropist who had contributed millions to charity for the past two decades? Sterling Cummins, friend of Drew’s father, someone Drew had admired and endeavored to emulate since he was a boy?
The doctor cleared his throat. “I demand to know just who you are, Officer, and what all this is about. Sterling Cummins—”
“Endicott. Scotland Yard.” The inspector handed the doctor his card and nodded toward the colorless little man at his side. “This is Sergeant Dane. And I presume you are Dr. . . .”
“Fletcher,” Dane supplied, looking at his notebook. “Called about an hour ago to see to the girl.”
Fletcher frowned, and Endicott turned to Drew and Madeline. “And you are?”
“Drew Farthering. This is my wife, Madeline.”
Madeline nodded. “Inspector.”
Endicott’s eyebrows went up. “American, eh? And what brings you here?”
“I wanted to be near my husband.”
The inspector pursed his lips. “I mean here to Winteroak House.” Endicott looked them up and down. “Both here for the house party?”
“That’s right,” Drew said. “We’ve been here since Monday. We were to go home in the morning.”
“And home would be where?”
“Farthering Place. In Farthering St. John, just a few miles north of here.”
“You’re that Farthering, are you?” Endicott sniffed. “Fancy yourself a detective, eh? Scotland Yard will see to things, I can assure you.”
Drew gave him a very slight bow, one hand pressed to the fine lace of his shirtfront. “Quite.”
“We will be questioning all the witnesses as quickly as we are able,” the inspector added. “If you and Mrs. Farthering will be so good as to wait.”
“Yes, of course.”
“If that’s all for the moment,” Dr. Fletcher said, “I’d like to take the body. I will, of course, forward you a copy of my complete report.”
“We’d best leave that to the coroner and the undertaker,” the inspector said with a ghost of a smile. “Thanks all the same.”
Dr. Fletcher drew himself up to his full not-very-impressive height. “I serve both of those functions locally.”
The smile vanished. “I see. Very well. The sooner you can get the report to us, the better.”
“Naturally.”
“We will need a full statement from you,” Endicott said. “And then we’ll need to talk to young Mr. Cummins.”
The doctor’s face was coldly professional. “The boy’s had quite a shock. Could this possibly wait until tomorrow at least?”
“Is Tal a suspect?” Drew asked.
Endicott stuck out his bottom lip. “No, Mr. Farthering, we don’t have anything against him as yet. Yes, Doctor, tomorrow will be satisfactory. And no, we don’t have anything against Mrs. Cummins, either. But we will have men on guard here until we complete our interviews, guests and all.”
He looked Madeline and Drew over once again, his lip curled. “A whole week of playing dress-up, eh? And I ended up working for a living.”
Sergeant Dane snickered almost silently.
Drew forced a smile. “Always happy to keep the constabulary amused. But, if we are dismissed, I think we’d like to see how Tal and his mother are doing. I’ve no doubt you have plenty to busy yourselves with for now.”
“Just don’t try to leave the house, Mr. Farthering.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Drew took Madeline’s arm again. “Come along, darling.”
He was surprised when, in answer to his knock, Tal opened the door himself. He looked absolutely wretched, red eyes swollen, face blotched and bloodless, clothes and hair disheveled. He stepped back to let Drew and Madeline come in and then shut the door behind them.
“What is it? Where did my father go?” He went to stand beside the shrouded figure on the bed. “We saw him out the window. He left with the police. Was it about . . . about arrangements? She hasn’t got any family. I’ll see to everything for her.”
His mother sat there looking as if nothing that had happened made the least bit of sense. “Please come sit down, dear. Please.”
“Mother—”
“It might be best, old man.” Drew took him by the arm and led him to the sofa by his mother. “I have something to tell you.”
He looked pleadingly at Madeline, and she gave him the kindest of her smiles. “Please do, Tal.”
Bewildered, he did as she said.
Drew pulled up a chair next to him. “Your dad wanted me to tell you both what’s happened. I know he wouldn’t want either of you to worry.”
Tal glanced at his round-eyed mother. “What is it?” He scrubbed one hand over his face. “What else has happened?”
Drew took a deep breath. “Very well, here it is. He’s been arrested for smuggling cocaine into the country and for contributing to Alice’s death.”
Mrs. Cummins’s soft cry was muffled by the plump hands she pressed to her mouth.
Tal shook his head. “That’s insane. That’s . . .” He put his head into his hands and started to laugh. “Absolutely stark staring mad. My father, cocaine?” His laughter turned harsh, shaking him until his mother reached over and took his hand. With a shuddering sob, he quieted. “All right, what
else?”
“Evidently they’ve been watching your father for some time now,” Drew told him. “Their theory is that he’s having the stuff brought into the country through here and then he takes it up to his warehouse in London to parcel it out all over England.”
“Here?” Mrs. Cummins breathed. “In our house? No. I would have known, wouldn’t I? We would have known.”
“I don’t want either of you to worry.” Drew patted their clasped hands. “I know someone with the police. He’ll help sort things out, I’m sure.”
“This isn’t just a matter for the local bobby, you know.” Tal’s lips trembled. “This is drugs and murder and Scotland Yard.”
“I know, Tal. I know. I don’t know what else to tell you, but I’ll see what I can do, what I can find out. I probably can’t get in touch with my chief inspector till morning, but I’ll try.”
It was already past midnight, but Drew went ahead and rang up Birdsong’s office. The chief inspector had gone home hours earlier, but the officer who took the call said he had already been told about the situation and was on his way to Winteroak House. Dr. Fletcher took Alice’s body away at a quarter to one. By one-twenty, Chief Inspector Birdsong had arrived. Drew was waiting for him in Mr. Cummins’s study.
“Detective Farthering. I should have known you’d be involved,” Birdsong grumbled as they shook hands. “And the bride?”
“She’s upstairs doing her best to look after Cummins’s wife and son.”
The chief inspector took a quick survey of Drew’s Regency eveningwear. “A bit sporty given what’s happened here, wouldn’t you say?”
“We were to stay in costume for the full week. Mr. Cummins wouldn’t allow anyone to cross his threshold wearing anything modern. I’ve sent my man Plumfield back up to Farthering Place to fetch all of us some regular clothes.”
Birdsong raised an eyebrow.
“I already cleared it with Scotland Yard.”
Birdsong looked uncharacteristically impressed. “Endicott is usually impossible to shift once he’s made a proclamation as to what will and will not take place during one of his investigations.”
“I think having the lot of us cavorting about as if we’d just stepped out of Pride and Prejudice was rather wearing on him. And it seemed quite awkward carrying on the charade in front of Tal and Mrs. Cummins.”
“Very true, I suppose. And I’m not the least bit surprised to find you here. Is there any mischief about that you’re not in the middle of?”
“Merely an innocent bystander,” Drew said. “But I think your Scotland Yard friends have made a rather silly mistake.”
“They have, have they?”
“They’ve arrested Sterling Cummins for trafficking in drugs. I just don’t see how that could be.”
“Friend of yours, is he?”
“He and my father were friends for years. I went to school with his son. He’s a good businessman and a good fellow all the way round. He couldn’t possibly be mixed up in something like this. Murder as well? I don’t believe it.”
“They told me. Well then, who was this girl?”
“Alice Henley.” Drew exhaled and sat down on the sofa. “She was engaged to Cummins’s son, Talbot.”
“Family?”
Drew shrugged. “My wife tells me Alice shared rooms in Buckler’s Hard with an elderly aunt of hers, all the family she had. When the aunt passed on this past March, Alice and Tal moved their wedding up to next month.”
“And Cummins supposedly killed the girl? Why?”
“Inspector Endicott doesn’t think it was intentional. She took an overdose of cocaine. They’re holding Mr. Cummins responsible for providing it for her.” Drew shook his head, laughing. “Granted, you don’t know him, but surely you know of him. Who in Hampshire doesn’t? But imagining he’s a drug smuggler? The whole thing’s ridiculous, don’t you think?”
Drew waited for Birdsong to make some sour remark about the incompetence of Scotland Yard in dealing with local matters, but no such remark came. The chief inspector sat there looking grim, but that wasn’t as unsettling as the bit of regret in his expression.
“Don’t you?” Drew prompted, his stomach queasy at the thought.
Birdsong pursed his lips, making his heavy mustache shift to one side. “Yes, I’ve heard of Mr. Sterling Cummins of Winteroak House. For some while now, in fact, but not, I’m sorry to say, for his business acumen or his benevolent works. Scotland Yard have had a rather intense focus on him for a number of months now, with evidence pointing to his being the center of the drug trade in some quarters of London.”
Drew thought of the bewildered incredulity on Mrs. Cummins’s face, the anger and utter disbelief on Tal’s. How could they all have been so deceived? How could Drew?
“I . . .” Drew shook his head. “It’s just not possible.”
“It’s true.”
“But Alice—”
“I suppose he didn’t mean that to happen. Likely she asked him for it, and he thought nothing of it.”
“No.” Drew stood up, unable to sit still any longer. “I don’t think he gave it to her at all. If she did take it intentionally, and Tal says she never would, I think she got it from one of the other guests.”
The chief inspector’s eyes narrowed. “Why’s that?”
“Madeline saw a couple of girls using cocaine in the powder room earlier today. She didn’t realize at the time that it was cocaine, but I knew it by her description. They’d been showing signs of it all week. I thought Mr. Cummins ought to know about it, in his own home and all, and he asked them to leave. If Alice Henley got it from anyone, I’m almost certain it was from those two girls.”
“Not from her fiancé?”
“Tal? Good heavens, no. Mr. Cummins gave us both a lecture before we went to university about what that sort of stuff does to a chap. Sad to say, we did see more than a bit of it at Oxford, too. Neither of us thought the opportunity to make fools of ourselves was worth the risk of turning our brains to blood pudding.”
“It’s been a while since you were at university, either of you. I understand you haven’t kept in touch.”
“No,” Drew conceded, “but it just wouldn’t be like Tal. He and Nick and I ran cross-country, rowing, everything like that. We none of us dabbled in this sort of thing at all, and I haven’t seen any indication of it in Tal all the time we’ve been here. Not in Alice either. Not until tonight.”
Again Birdsong pursed his lips. “And you didn’t find it rather strange that a man like Cummins would know enough about drugs to warn you about what they would do to you? About cocaine in particular?”
Drew frowned, remembering the urgency on Mr. Cummins’s face, in his voice, as he made Drew and Tal both promise to leave the stuff strictly alone.
“I . . . I expect he’d come across it in the charity work he and Mrs. Cummins sponsor. I mean, drugs and alcohol are often the reason people end up needing charity, am I right?”
Birdsong frowned. “I wish I could say it weren’t the case.”
“Then how does that translate into Mr. Cummins being the head of some elaborate smuggling operation?”
“It’s rather an old tale, I’m afraid,” the chief inspector said. “There’s money to be made, and so long as people insist on killing themselves with the stuff, what does it matter who sells it to them? Likely a man like Cummins figures he’s only supplying what the market demands. So long as he doesn’t actually force it on anyone, he doesn’t see the harm.”
“But it is harm!” Drew gritted his teeth, forcing himself to lower his voice to a more appropriate level. “And he knows it is. Why would he have warned me and Tal off the stuff years ago if he didn’t know full well what it does to a person? If he didn’t know the death he was peddling?”
“I’ve seen it too many times before,” Birdsong said. “They see business as business and not something that affects them as people. It’s the only way they can live with themselves.”
“It’s a w
retched way to live, if you ask me,” Drew muttered.
Birdsong shrugged. “And then you have poor tomnoddies like me who have to make sure they’re stopped.”
“And their families, people like Tal and his mother, who are torn to bits when you stop them.”
“Has to be done,” Birdsong said, his face hard.
“I know, and you fellows can’t be blamed for what the families go through. They’re victims of the criminal as much as anyone else, whether or not that’s what he intended.”
“I’ve had to remind myself of that more times than you might expect.” The chief inspector paused, then cleared his throat. “Regardless, it doesn’t surprise me that Cummins would warn off his son and anyone else he cared for.”
“But that’s just it,” Drew said. “If he felt that way, why wouldn’t he have done the same for Alice? Tal was dotty about the girl and his father knew it. Why would Cummins give her cocaine?”
“That is rather an interesting question, I must admit.”
“That’s why I think she must have gotten it from her friends, Georgie and Violet. Don’t recall the surnames.”
“Deane and Marlow,” Birdsong said. “We’ll be having a little chat with them, I’m sure. Scotland Yard will, as well. Anything you’d like to add? Any observations that might be helpful?”
Drew could only shake his head.
Six
Birdsong gave Drew the standard warning about keeping out of trouble and then shuffled off to talk to the men from Scotland Yard. Drew stood for some time where he was, simply looking at the office of the man he had long admired, the man he thought he knew. He’d been in here a few times before, but now they seemed to close in on him, these walls full of plaques and awards and newspaper clippings.
And photographs. Cummins with the Lord Mayor of London. With Queen Mary. With the Archbishop of Canterbury. With film stars and captains of industry. Breaking ground for a charity hospital. Cutting the ribbon on a new orphan asylum. Handing over the keys to a free clinic in London’s worst slum. In all of them, the man seemed humble and kindly, genuinely happy to give, to ease the burdens of others, to share those blessings he had with those who had nothing.
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